


Lady Obscura: Little More than a Shadow

by DarkLadyAthara



Series: The Lady Adyé Series [2]
Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Dark Side Redemption, Darth Vader's Apprentice, F/M, Lady Adyé Series, Original Character-centric, Redemption, Sith Apprentice, The Dark Side of the Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-08-28 07:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 130,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8437300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkLadyAthara/pseuds/DarkLadyAthara
Summary: A Star Wars Original Trilogy FanFictionAthara has known nothing but Vader's protection her whole life. He raised her and taught her to keep her true Force potential a virtual secret from the Emperor, knowing that Palpatine would either covet her strength...or seek to destroy it. She became known throughout the Galaxy as Lady Obscura, Imperial Agent and Vader's mysterious shadow: The Right Hand of the Emperor's Right Hand. But the Rebel Alliance is growing stronger and when the depth of Athara's Powers come to the Emperor's attention, she can do nothing but run. It's then that everything changes.***This story is the second part of The Lady Adyé Trilogy, though by no means do they need to be read in order.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. I own only my O/Cs and my little plot tweaks. For the record, for this story I have counted only the Films as Canon (along with their corresponding Visual Dictionaries), pulling little bits of info and inspiration from EU and the TV series as I have seen fit.
> 
> This story is the second part of The Lady Adyé Trilogy, though by no means do they need to be read in order.
> 
> This story is also posted on FanFiction. net and Wattpad under the same title and penname.

The sound of his harsh breathing filled the room.

"Where is he?" The woman he spoke to pressed herself closer to the dusky green wall behind her, practically willing herself to melt into it. He only stepped closer.

"I will not ask again. Where is he?"

"You know very well that I will never tell you." Though cold terror was coursing through her, Neva's voice remained as steady as ever, her extensive political training proving just how deeply it was ingrained into her character. His attempts to probe her mind failed again. Despite not being Force sensitive, she was able to fend the creeping tendrils off, enraging him further. They both knew that if he tried to crash through those barriers, her mind, and the information he needed would be destroyed. Both of them also knew that he didn't have the patience to manipulate his way past her defences. Stepping closer yet again, he was close enough to hear her pounding heart. Strands of her dark brown hair clung to her forehead in stringy curls as her hazel eyes stared defiantly at the mask before her.

Suddenly, a splitting cry came from the next room. He slowly turned to look in that direction. Neva reached to the table beside her, groping for anything to use in her defense. She found only a decorative statuette, though it was fairly substantial. It would only be good for a distraction, but it would work. It would give her a chance to go for her blaster. The mask turned back to her.

"A child? So, you have a child, Neva Adyé. Does she have your name, or his?" Neva panicked, her maternal instincts flaring, and swung the statuette as hard as she could at her captor. He was too fast. His hand reached out and easily caught her wrist before she had even come close to hitting her target. His other hand flashed out, catching her about the throat, driving her into the wall. Her vision wavered as dislodged plaster pattered softly on the tiled floor. The statuette fell from her hand, landing on the floor with a dull thud.

"What will our dear Jedi think when he finds that the mother of his child died because she refused to tell me where he is? Does he even know the child exists?"

"I would hope you knew me better than that." She choked out. He just watched her, his expressionless mask hovering frozen in front of her face, the pressure on her neck increasing slightly. He leaned a little closer. He appeared to have an idea.

"Tell me, what would he think if I took her with me? I can sense her potential; it is indeed promising. Or perhaps I should simply kill her too." At this her eyes went wide with both fear at his threats and from his ever-tightening grip. Her pale blue slippers hovered above the ground. She gasped for breath.

"Don't make me kill you both."

"She's just a baby."

"That hasn't stopped me in the past." Her horror at the admission was overshadowed as his iron grip tightened. Neva's hands groped at his leather clad one, attempting, but failing, to loosen the crushing hold.

"I will not. You can kill me if you must, but spare my child! Please! Don't hurt Athara, I'm begging you!" The desperation that crept into her voice would have been enough to cause any mortal man to pause, but he was more machine than human; much less compassionate. His mask dipped even closer. Her air supply was nearly extinguished.

"I'd have never expected you to beg. If you won't divulge this information, you will die." She gasped out her response.

"I—will—never—tell—you!"

"Wrong answer." Neva cried out with the last of her air as a searing pain ripped through her chest. The last thing she saw was a vivid red glow and the last thing she heard was the familiar hum of a lightsaber.

As her body hit the ground, Lord Vader was already moving away. The cry of the infant held his attention. Deviating from his course, he ducked into the nursery. All at once his twisted and fractured soul was assailed by nearly forgotten memories and abandoned dreams for a future he'd been robbed of.

Painted with warm colours and decorated with soft, plushy furniture, the room was a vision of innocence. The rainbow of pastels circled around an antique cradle hidden by a pale, sheer curtain. Walking up to it, he gazed through the gauzy fabric, his saber still in hand, his mechanical breathing the only sound other than the tiny whimpering.

Standing beside the crib, he couldn't stop looking at the tiny being sheltered within. Small and helpless, the little baby lay on her back, tears streaking her delicate face. Looking down at her he felt his heart constrict with a feeling he had not felt in a long time. He had almost had this; he had almost been a father. He immediately felt the anger, the hate and the jealousy for his primary quarry rise up to possess him yet again. _How could he have this? How could he have this while it was ripped from my grasp? What did he do to deserve this?_

_What did I do?_ It was a sudden, quiet thought, one that caught him completely by surprise in its strength and sincerity. He felt the rents in his shredded heart twinge, an agonizing reminder that, despite everything, it still beat. The child before him began to wail again, the pathetic pleas coursing through the room. Something woke within him at the beckoning of that small voice. The baby called to him in a way he couldn't explain. Stepping back, he looked at the saber in his hand. He activated the blade. Raising it, ready to strike, he stood there for what seemed like an eternity.

The saber snapped off.

Stepping forward, he brushed aside the breeze-like curtains and reached into the cradle. Picking up the crying infant, he cradled the tiny life in his arms with a tenderness he had thought he'd lost. The baby looked up at him, her tears ceasing; she seemed to gaze right past the mask and into his soul. He ignored the prickling sensation behind his eyes, blue once again for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime. The dark blue-gray eyes meeting his made up his mind for him.

Reaching out with his feelings, he brushed up against the tiny Force signature, reassuring the infant in his black-clad arms. She didn't seem frightened of the deep voice that was ushered out of the respirator.

"I will take care of you now."

The troopers waiting outside could only wonder why their commander was taking the time he was. They had heard the usual, and some even slightly unusual sounds; a woman's voice followed by the expected sound of her death, the all too familiar lightsaber, and, oddly, the cry of a baby. Then that sound too had fallen silent. The sight that awaited the troopers—now designated Stormtroopers due to the growing number of non-clones in the ranks thanks to the Emperor's decision to phase out the use of clones—was not unusual in the least.

They only had to wait patiently for a few more minutes before their commander joined them out in the bright sunlight and clear air. The day seemed to completely ignore the events within the columned little house.

The Emperor's Right Hand wrapped his cloak tighter around himself as he strode to his waiting shuttle. As expected, he did not say a word. The troopers didn't need orders; they knew the Dark Lord's expectations by now.

As he climbed the ramp, none of the troopers made a move for fear of attracting the Sith's displeasure. One of the troopers, however, was about to get the surprise of his life. Nothing could prepare him for what he was about to see.

Trixton Jengal stood stock still like the rest of his comrades, and like the rest, he could feel the dark power that emanated from the Dark Lord as he passed. But as the Sith strode by the nervous trooper, his long black cloak shifted, revealing a small, pale yellow bundle. However, that's not what really startled him. What startled him was the tiny hand that had escaped from the bundle. As the cloak shifted again, the curious bundle the Dark Lord held was hidden from sight.

No doubt feeling his surprise, the Sith stopped, further readjusting his robe. He then turned to Jengal. Straightening even further, the trooper awaited what was sure to come, sweat pooling on his forehead. He had most definitely seen too much. This was very bad. The lifeless artificial sockets stared back at him, assessing him. It took all of Trixton's self control not to start at the reverberating voice that came from the expressionless mask.

"You, Lieutenant, what is your name and operating number."

"Lieutenant Trixton Jengal, operating number AP-8725, Nubian Division, Milord." It was all Jengal could do not to let his voice betray his fear.

The terror emanating from the trooper was intense. Vader nodded as he mulled over the information. The Nubian Battalion was one of the first completely non-clone battalions from the Core Planets, based on the planet Nubia, hence the name. They were a loyal and dependable squadron, and Vader had heard of Jengal. He was a respected, competent and highly loyal trooper. The Dark Lord's respirator was the only sound in the morning air. It was all Trixton could do to keep from trembling in fear.

"Do you have a family, Lieutenant?" Trixton's terror multiplied hundredfold, and for a moment he feared he was about to pass out. He had heard rumours of entire cities being vaporized on account of this commander's displeasure.

"Y-yes, Milord." Trixton managed to stammer. The Dark Lord was silent for another moment, the sound of his breathing causing Trixton's own breath to catch in his throat. The Dark Lord finally spoke.

"Come with me."


	2. Chapter 1

If there was to be only one thing in the Galaxy that Athara agreed with her Master on, it was that the Death Star was an abomination.

Now, they agreed on many things, so this was a rather unnecessary statement. Nevertheless, neither of them was particularly happy that the Emperor was so enthralled by the project. It was a sentiment shared by a great number of Imperials across the Empire, really. However, the entire Imperial hierarchy must show a unified front. Not just because of the Rebels, but also because of the dissention and disruption a disagreement between the most powerful leaders of the Empire would cause.

Darth Vader and the Emperor showed as unified a front as they always had, with Vader the deadly and menacing right hand of the even more intimidating Emperor. Athara knew better. She knew, shared some of the innermost thoughts with and, on the whole, many of the same opinions as her Master.

Vader was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with the Emperor's actions and decisions. Oh, the Emperor knew Vader's feelings and likely by extension her feelings as well, but he did nothing about it. Instead he let the feelings of discontent fester in his primary agent, knowing that the strength of Vader's devotion to him would compel the Dark Lord to obey. To Athara, the truly disturbing part was that she understood why the Emperor did nothing. Her Master was at his most menacing when he was frustrated, and nothing increased his feelings of frustration and helplessness than when he had to go along with the edicts and orders that he did not agree with. Unfortunately, he was more effective as an Imperial agent when he was in those kinds of moods.

That was exactly the mood he was in when Athara rendezvoused with Vader aboard the Star Destroyer _Devastator_. The Plans to the Death Star had made their way into Rebel hands in the midst of a pitched battle that the Rebels had shockingly won. In effort to rectify the situation, Vader had set off to retrieve them. A seemingly small task that was proving more difficult than it originally appeared, and Vader was losing face because of it.

Athara had been left to investigate the leak when it had been discovered that the Plans had made their way into Rebel hands. While Vader tailed the Plans themselves, Athara had quietly and efficiently dealt with the Imperial Commanders who had failed to take the appropriate measures to safeguard the Plans. It was a task she didn't relish, but didn't refuse either. When Darth Vader gives an order, it is followed, whether one is his apprentice or one of his Stormtroopers.

Despite her use of the Dark Side of the Force, Athara was a far lighter user than her Master. Known to the galaxy only as the Dark Lady Obscura, she was much more balanced in the Force than Vader, who was volatile and dangerous on a good day. But in many ways this was a good thing. When she was with her Master, he was much easier to be around, mainly because her presence calmed him. She had never been sure why; perhaps it was just her nature. She had always seemed to calm those close to her, which was decidedly odd in a Sith apprentice. The crews of her ships and the squadrons of troopers under her command were more at ease with her than any Vader commanded. That didn't mean they feared her less, or that there was any sort of lack of respect for her authority among them. They were professional and efficient, something she was immensely proud of.

She was one of the Sith, albeit unofficially, and all those under her command knew it and paid her the proper difference due her rank as Vader's Right Hand. Unlike Vader though, she was generally far more merciful and reasonable, even when deep in the influence of the Dark Side. She had only ever had to make a handful of examples; far fewer than the myriad Vader was known for. Vader possessed the ability and often the desire to be a more even-handed commander, but the Dark Side was detrimental to his efforts more often than not.

Yet even with his highly unstable moods and sometimes unorthodox and often ruthless command, most of the troops were highly devoted to Vader, possibly more so than to the Emperor and subsequently the Empire. Despite the terror he inspired and the iron fist he lead with, when he wasn't completely immersed in the Dark Side he was a highly capable and respected leader. He rarely kept himself out of a battle, unlike just about every other Imperial Commander, earning the respect of his troops by that action alone. Unfortunately, the Dark Side had an unbalancing effect on Vader. But the farther away he was from the Emperor and the closer to his apprentice he was, the more stable he was and tended to cultivate more respect than he managed otherwise. Because of that, many gave the Dark Lord a level of loyalty and admiration Vader valued greatly, especially since they retained that esteem after seeing the Dark Lord in all his dark, ruthless glory.

However, the missing Plans were making Vader's mood darker and darker, and Athara was concerned that there would very soon be casualties among his crew as a result, if there weren't already. Though he hadn't expressly said to, Athara could sense that he wished for her to join him now that her task was completed. As her shuttle came to a rest within one of the smaller landing bays, she felt Vader's encompassing presence aboard the Star Destroyer. His brief acknowledgement of her arrival allowed her to pinpoint his location through the Force.

The shuttle's ramp was barely extended before she stepped onto the landing platform and made her way past the officers there to meet her. Normally she would have politely put up with the often nervous welcome from various officers, but Vader's obvious foul mood had created an oppressive and uneasy atmosphere on the ship.

It didn't take long to reach the bridge, and Athara was hardly surprised by what she found there. All the officers and technicians were incredibly quiet, their fear and apprehension tangible amid the silence. Vader was a dark shadow among the stars on the other side of the viewscreen. She went to stand beside him as the ship jumped to lightspeed.

"I take it you have located the Plans." Athara had waited a few moments before speaking and, as she expected, Vader replied by simply nodding his head. His formidable temper was barely reined in. Even her presence didn't seem to be enough to calm him in this situation.

"Ship or planet?"

"Senator Organa's Consular Ship." Vader's voice was deceptively composed. Then again, the vocorder that regulated his breathing and speech didn't allow for some of the more subtle nuances of the human voice. She couldn't claim surprise at the ownership of the ship they were chasing.

Both of the Senator Organas, father and daughter alike, were suspected of Rebel allegiances, though up till now there had been no concrete proof. But then, Bail Organa had been much more subtle in his dealings, and the only shade of suspicion since the first days of the Empire were very recent indeed. Leia Organa on the other hand, walked a very fine line. Athara had only met her once, and had been impressed by her composure and spirit in the presence of not only her Master and herself, but the Emperor as well.

"The young Senator Organa?" Once again, Vader's only response was a nod. "She will be brought to trial then? Surely this is the proof the Empire needs to convict her of treason?" Vader's silence spoke volumes. Athara sighed. Young Senator Organa likely wouldn't make it to trial, one way or another. A swift execution had likely already been ordered, and Athara suspected Tarkin would be behind it.

Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin was cruel, calculating, and had little regard for her and Vader, and Vader returned the sentiment. Sure they had their uses for each other and were, at times, begrudging allies, but the two favourites of the Emperor had little to do with each other. There was a certain amount of respect between Vader and Tarkin, mostly for each other's ability to get things done. But Tarkin was unnecessarily cruel to an even greater extent than Vader was, especially after his apprentice's influence tempered him. Tarkin was practically jubilant at the prospect of commanding the Death Star; Vader wanted nothing to do with it. Tarkin believed fear, and plenty of it, was a necessity to govern and preached the merits of his methods. Vader, though agreeing fear was a useful tool, did not wholly believe that complete and total fear was the best way to enforce and maintain order. Devotion and discipline were more effective, but it had to be earned, not scared into you. In this, Athara wholeheartedly agreed. She had seen first hand what beings would do when fear was used to control them. Fear was a tenuous leash; it was strong at first, but it soon weakened and eventually snapped, causing devastation for both parties involved. Desperation, after all, could be just as powerful as fear.

The _Devastator_ soon came out of hyperspace above the planet Tatooine, dropping back into real-space almost on top of the _Tantive IV_. Brisk orders were given and the Star Destroyer opened fire on the corvette. Vader didn't have to say a word. His men had their orders and knew what was expected.

It was all over in the space of a few moments. Athara stood quietly beside her Master as the _Tantive IV_ was disabled and was guided into the main landing bay by tractor beam. It was then that Vader abruptly turned. Athara followed silently, keeping pace behind her Master as they made their way to the ship awaiting them in the landing bay.

Compared to the _Devastator_ , the Alderaanian ship was quite small, but to a single person, she was a fairly substantial vessel. By the time Vader and his apprentice made their way to the only open hatch, which had been blasted open, most of the fighting had subsided. Vader didn't hesitate striding onto the smoke-clouded corridor of the captured vessel. But he had a respirator that filtered out the smoke and fumes left over from the boarding party's firefight. Athara had to wait a moment, drawing on the Force to protect her lungs from whatever still hung in the air. Coughing at the smoke was not a dignified thing for a Sith apprentice to do.

Vader was already striding purposefully down the corridor flanked by a number of troopers by the time she cleared the lingering smoke. Stepping over the bodies of the _Tantive IV_ 's Crew and Stormtroopers alike, Athara distantly followed Vader, pausing to take reports from troopers and direct the flow of prisoners.

She finally caught up to her Master to find him holding the _Tantive IV_ 's Captain by the throat. The Alderaanian's feet hovered a foot off the ground, the man gasping for air. Judging by the change in the Dark Lord's voice when the Captain denied knowledge of the Plans, Vader's patience was reaching its end. It wasn't long before Athara heard the faint crunching of the Captain's vertebrae as Vader crushed the man's neck in his grip. As Captain Antilles fell limp, Vader threw the body aside, roaring at the Stormtrooper Commander at his side.

"Tear this ship apart until you find those Plans, and bring me the passengers, I want them alive!" The troopers scurried off as Vader strode angrily past the lifeless body of the Captain. His rage was tangible, but Athara managed to keep her face emotionless and stone-like as Vader came directly toward her. The anger radiated off him in waves, putting her even more on edge; pushing her closer to her own limits.

"Find the Consular, now!"

"Yes, Master." Striding off in the opposite direction, Athara took command of the remaining troopers and began organizing a more rapid search, barking her own orders. One angry Sith and his equally formidable shadow were quite enough to motivate the Stormtroopers further.

Mere moments had passed since the commanders relayed the new search pattern to their subordinates when the result Athara was anticipating came.

"My Lady Obscura, We have the Consular in custody." Athara inwardly sighed, letting out a soft breath of relief. She gave a faint grin to the Commander—not that he could see it beneath her deep hood.

"Good. Have her escorted to Lord Vader immediately." As the trooper acknowledged her orders, Athara turned and made her way to meet Vader. She found him in one of the mid-ship corridors, Princess Leia all but hidden by the mass of Stormtroopers surrounding her. Athara hung back, staying behind the mass of white.

Compared to Vader, Princess Leia was tiny, her petite form dwarfed by Vader's intimidating armoured height. Her disposition, however, more than made up for her size.

"Several transmissions were beamed to this ship by Rebel spies. I want to know what happened to the Plans they sent you." Even with the vocorder, Vader's voice betrayed his irritation despite his attempts to keep his temper in check. The Princess gazed mildly back at the Sith Lord, a hint of her own irritation on her features.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm a member of the Imperial Senate on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan"

"You are a part of the Rebel Alliance...and a traitor. Take her away!" As the troopers lead her away, Vader began walking in Athara's direction, one of his Commanders tagging along. Discreetly, Athara fell into step a polite distance behind them, but not so far that her Force-heightened senses couldn't hear every word spoken.

"Holding her is dangerous. If word of this gets out, it could generate sympathy for the Rebellion in the senate." Despite his bold exterior, it was easy to tell that the officer was nervous. More for his position or his life than the Imperial cause, most likely, but nervous nonetheless. Vader's ire got the better of him and his temper let out words that sounded almost desperate to the young Sith's ears.

"I have traced the Rebel spies to her. Now she is my only link to find their secret base!"

"She'll die before she tells you anything." It was a very bold thing to say to the frustrated Dark Lord. Vader, however, only rebuked him, turning to face the startled officer.

"Leave that to me. Send a distress signal and then inform the senate that all aboard were killed!" Athara couldn't help but frown at her Master's order. He was all but covering up this incident! Surely making this incident public—eventually, at least—would have served as an effective warning to others who would cross the Empire. Despite her misgivings, Athara kept her thoughts to herself, especially as a second officer approached ahead of them.

"Lord Vader, the Battlestation Plans are not aboard this ship, and no transmissions were made. An escape pod was jettisoned during the fighting, but no life forms were aboard." His report was blessedly succinct and to the point. Athara could all but hear Vader's conclusion before he spoke, having come to the same one as well.

"She must have hidden the Plans in the escape pod. Send a detachment down to retrieve them. See to it personally, Commander. There'll be no one to stop us this time." Both the Commanders briskly acknowledged the order and hurried away. Vader continued walking, now intent on getting off the ship. Athara followed, easily catching up as Vader checked his stride so she could walk comfortably beside him.

"A successful venture, I believe, Master."

"Do not be so quick to assume success yet, my apprentice. The Plans are not in my hands yet." Athara ceded him that, but there still seemed little chance for failure at this point. From what she knew of Tatooine, there were few settlements, and there had been no life forms within the escape pod.

"Yes, Master. However, I do not understand why you did not send me. I could have retrieved the Plans from the planet in very little time at all. Troopers will take longer." Vader stopped abruptly, causing Athara to turn and face him. He was much taller than her, but that had never really intimidated her. She learned very early on that his size was the least threatening aspect of Darth Vader.

"No. You will remain here. You will oversee the confinement of the Princess until she is transferred to the Death Star. You will also see to the repair, security and command of the Consular's ship." As per usual, Vader all but spat the name of the Empire's deadliest Battlestation, but there was something else in his orders. Athara had always been good at interpreting things Vader left unsaid, perhaps due to the Master/apprentice bond that had grown between them. The Dark Lord either did not want her to leave his side, or he did not want her stepping foot on Tatooine. Her instincts said it was the latter, given that this wasn't the first time he had prevented her from taking a mission to the isolated sand planet. But as far as Athara knew, Vader hadn't really been to the desert planet himself beyond the odd visit to pressure Jabba the Hutt to do or not do something. There was no reason why she shouldn't have been able to retrieve the Plans herself. However, one could not simply defy the Dark Lord of the Sith.

Bowing silently, she made her way off the captured ship, cautiously shielding her rebellious thoughts and wayward theories. Vader was not above skimming through unshielded thoughts, and he was on edge enough as it was. Her rebellious musings, even if kept within her own mind, would be quite enough to set off his substantial temper. At least the not-so-subtle gift of the ship was an unexpected bonus... but it still wasn't quite enough to make her forget about the underlying issue.

As she felt the _Devastator_ jump to hyperspace beneath her feet, Athara entered the detention level aboard the Star Destroyer. It took only a few minutes to make the necessary arrangements and go through proper channels and procedures to transfer the custody of Princess Leia into her charge and begin to organize the fate of the _Tantive IV_. If she was ordered to take control Athara liked to be fully in charge. The Senator was her responsibility and as such, any developments would be reported directly to her. Once the arrangements for the Princess' transfer to the Death Star's facilities had been taken care of, Athara went to make her own assessment of her prisoner.

As the compartment door to the Princess' cell whooshed open, Athara stepped inside. The Princess was a standing, arms crossed, almost in the centre of the cell. A defiant and annoyed expression quickly disappeared from her face to be replaced with a cool diplomatic mask. Athara grinned inwardly as she felt rudimentary mental shields go up. So, the Princess had done her homework. She knew very well whom she was going to be dealing with.

"Your Highness, I trust the accommodations are to your liking." The Princess' façade slipped for a moment to reveal a hint of distaste before snapping into place again. Apparently she didn't think that Athara's greeting was very amusing.

"As likable as can be expected, but I suspect you already knew that."

"Of course. I thought you'd like to know your destination. Once we drop out of hyperspace you will be escorted, by me, to a detention block on the Death Star. There you will be questioned as to the whereabouts of the Plans that were briefly in your possession. You would do well to co-operate. After all, the order for your execution has yet to be given, and intensive interrogation is hardly – comfortable. A willingness to tell us what we want to know can only help you at this point."

"I highly doubt that. I know very well that, even if I were to possess the information Lord Vader is seeking, a willingness to 'co-operate' would not get me anywhere." Athara cocked her head slightly, considering.

"So, you are resigned to torture and death, then." Athara was grimly pleased that her nonchalant tone caused the young Senator to pale. Only now was she beginning to truly understand the situation she was in.

"I am a Member of the Imperial Senate who has been wrongfully accused of crimes that are nowhere near heinous enough to merit the use of excessive interrogation techniques. Torture is inexcusable under these circumstances. There is no tangible proof of any of wrongdoing on my part." Despite her vehemence, the young Sith detected a faint tremor in the Senator's voice. She was trying to convince herself that her convictions were correct when they both knew they weren't. Athara felt a small twinge of pity for the young woman. Princess Leia was, at most, a year or two older than Athara herself, and both of them knew what was waiting for the Senator on board the Death Star. Still, the Senator stood strong where many would have faltered. Where many had faltered.

"I highly doubt that," Athara responded quietly. "Pretty words and legal runaround will do you no good, I'm afraid. We will be coming up on the Death Star's coordinates shortly. You would do well to prepare yourself, Senator." Athara turned to leave. Leia made a small sound of incredulity as her gaoler turned.

"How does a young thing like you end up working for a tyrant like Vader?" Athara let herself grin slightly within the deep cowl of her hood. As she turned back to the Princess, she put her hands on her hips, allowing her cloak to be drawn back to showcase her silver and black lightsaber. The Princess' eyes widened ever so slightly. Surely she must have known already. At least now any suspicions, or fears, were confirmed beyond a doubt. Athara countered further with a question and a blatantly measuring glance of her own.

"You're one to talk. How does a young thing like you end up mixing with the Rebellion?" The Princess' mouth stayed stubbornly shut. Athara almost laughed, a small sound reminiscent of a snort escaping instead. "I thought so." Athara once again turned towards the door of the cell, pausing before willing the door open.

"Lord Vader is my Master. He found me as an infant, raised me and taught me everything I know. I am his apprentice and he is my Master. My teacher. That is how I came to be here." Leia looked stunned for a moment, though whether it was from the fact that Athara had answered her, or the answer itself, Athara could only guess.

"He raised you?" Athara saw a strange flicker in the eyes of the Alderaanian Princess. It was a puzzling mixture of fear and wonder... and pity? The young Sith considered the Senator for a moment.

"Prepare yourself, Princess." Her stone-like mask in place once more, Athara turned and walked out of the cell.


	3. Chapter 2

Meditation was usually a peaceful time for Athara. However, as the _Devastator_ hurled through hyperspace towards the Death Star, she found little peace. A sense of foreboding coloured the visions she saw through the Force. It was a strange feeling but one she recognized immediately. It took her longer to recognize the stirring of hope and promise beneath the oppressive feeling she picked up first. The feelings weren't the only things she sensed. An elusive presence always accompanied these visions, as though someone wanted her to see them and understand.

True visions were rare for Athara. Her Master was much more prone to experiencing those sorts of visions, both of present and future events. Athara only got this strange montage. Visions flashed before her mind's eye, images of a young, sandy haired boy, a little older than herself, and an old man. Sometimes they were together, sometimes apart. Other times there were more people and droids with them. The messes of visions were made of flashes only, lasting seconds at most. However, the boy carried a sense of destiny about him, as did a girl close to him, or at least, who would be. Her Master, and even the Emperor appeared sporadically. But it was not the boy, or the girl that truly caught her interest. She could feel the touch of the future and the present on those images. It was the images of the past that kept her riveted. A Master and Apprentice were the focus, both men that were important in her life. She could feel the connection, like a tangible cord that stretched between them. Each and every vision was connected to the others, yet Athara couldn't figure out why.

She was jolted out of her trance when she felt the ship drop out of hyperspace. The visions fled her mind instantly, as though her mind's eye had blinked and they vanished. She could never remember faces or even images, only feelings. This irritated her. Athara had been having the same set of visions on and off for years. She knew the visions were important events, both of the past and of events that were even now being put into motion. Everything was starting to come together. Previously, the collection of micro-visions had the touch of the past and the future on them only. Now it had shifted. Many were now touched by the feel of the present. Things were starting to happen, and it made the Sith apprentice feel uneasy.

However, the ambiguous presence lingered, something that had never happened before. It was calm and collected and wise, reassuring her restless mind. Reaching out, she tried to touch the presence, curious about the familiarity of it. She wanted to know why the visions she couldn't remember were so important.

On and off for as long as she could remember, in times of loneliness, doubt and emotional strain, a feeling of comfort and calm had often come over her, as if she was never quite alone. She had never given the feeling much thought before, having always taken it for granted. As she reached for the presence that accompanied the visions, a vague idea that they might be one and the same occurred to her. The presence didn't retreat from her probing, but it remained elusive, as though shrouded in mist.

The comm device near the door to her quarters buzzed quietly, pulling Athara's attention away from the presence. Standing slowly, she walked over to the station, strapping her utility belt, complete with lightsaber, to her waist as she went.

Lightsaber training had always been a favourite part of her lessons. There was a kind of serenity and clarity of mind that she reached whenever she danced and moved in complex combat formations, her red blade whirling in intricate patterns as it sliced through the air. The only drawback was that while she was so calm and relaxed with her saber, her ability to tap into the darker side of the Force was somewhat diminished. Personally, Athara didn't mind. In certain situations, she preferred the lighter side of the Force. Vader was not always pleased. Strength was paramount in the world of the Sith, and the Light Side of the Force was weak. Passion, anger and rage were stronger. They enhanced the Sith's link to the Force and so, in turn, made them stronger. In the universe they lived in, Athara would need all the strength she could get.

The Emperor was not forgiving of weakness in his followers, especially in the favourite agent of his Right Hand. Still, Athara was always sure to suppress her mastery of the Force when she was near the Emperor.

When she needed to, she could draw a considerable amount of power to herself. Thankfully she didn't need to very often. As far as Palpatine was concerned, she was stronger as an agent and a commander than as a Force-user. If he knew the true extent of her strength and knowledge in the Force he would likely have her killed. Even when she was across the galaxy from him she had to keep the extent of her abilities under wraps. With so few Force-users in the Galaxy, any major disturbances in the Force were immediately felt by, or came to the attention of the Emperor. He also was closely linked to Vader, and by virtue of her link to her Master, Athara. Were she to lose control, or even if she were to draw extensively on the Dark Side without careful mental shielding, the Emperor would know.

When she was a child Palpatine would've taken her for training as one of his Hands. But she was too old now, and had been trained too extensively by Vader. She would only be a threat. Vader had shielded her Force signature until she had learned enough to do it herself. The Emperor knew that she could use the Force—that was inevitable—but only in a minimal, flashy way. As far as he was concerned, she only knew enough to use it for show and for the most basic of exercises. Even her lightsaber was, from Palpatine's perspective, just for show. To create fear and inspire respect by association and intimidation. Little more than that. She was just another tool of Vader's, and she was effective. Which is probably why the Emperor allowed her Master to keep her at all. To Vader, she was a powerful apprentice. To Palpatine, she was a useful agent only; a rather good one, but still only an agent. As a result the Emperor tolerated her, but had little use for her. He didn't think she could command the type of power he was interested in, or the type of power that would be necessary to help Vader overthrow him. Well, she was fine with that. She had little use for the Emperor and his methods. He was all about subtlety and manipulation.

Athara was more like Vader in her approaches—straightforward. Manipulation had a tendency to create horribly tangled webs of deceit and misinterpretation, while subtlety generally took too long and often didn't create precisely the desired outcome. Unless one was Palpatine, of course. Then again, the Emperor was a master of his craft. After all, he single-handedly brought about the fall of the Republic to create his Empire.

Still, while the old ways had issues, the Empire wasn't turning out to be much better. At least, from what Athara had been able to piece together, the Republic held a semblance of justice and diplomacy in its system of government. The Empire had no such semblances. The Empire was simply corrupt. It harboured no illusions to the contrary anymore. Perhaps in the beginning it had, but Athara had only been a child then, and now Emperor Palpatine's power was absolute.

The message waiting for Athara was one informing her of their approach to the Death Star. Fastening her cloak around her and pulling the cowl low over her face, she quickly made her way to the detention block to oversee the transfer of the Princess to the Empire's newest space fortress.

As she stepped out of the turbolift, Athara was pleased to see a selection of her troopers waiting for her. Leading the way, she stopped in front of the Princess' cell and opened the door by hand. Using the Force was all well and good, but Athara also liked the tactile feeling of doing things without it. Vader always gave her a strange, considering look when he saw her doing tasks manually that she could quickly and easily accomplish using the Force. She always brushed it off, saying it was more of a ruse that served as proof for the Emperor's spies that she had limited command of the Force, but Vader still never quite seemed to understand. The way the panel hummed beneath her fingers as she deactivated the locking mechanism was a surprisingly grounding sensation that she lost when she used the Force.

The door softly whooshed open once again and Athara stepped inside, her dark cloak billowing slightly around her.

"Have you prepared, Princess?" The young Senator looked up from her perch on the cell's narrow cot, her face as cool and calculating as Athara's. Not saying a word, she watched as two troopers entered the cell behind the Sith apprentice and moved to flank her. Athara didn't shift her gaze from the Princess as she stood and began the walk to her new accommodations. As Leia was escorted from the cell, she pulled back for a moment to face Athara.

"Tell me one thing," the Princess asked quietly, her voice unnaturally calm, "What drives him? What could possible fuel that much hate?"

Athara had no answer, and so, volunteered none. She knew whom the Princess was referring to, and why she asked. If she had had an answer, she might even have given it, but the Sith apprentice did not. Then again, the Alderaanian Princess didn't seem to expect an answer either. Athara gestured to her troopers.

"Take her."

The transfer of prisoners was a smooth procedure. Within moments of stepping off the shuttle into one of the cavernous bays of the Death Star, Princess Leia was escorted to a new cell and stowed away until she could be dealt with. Once all the procedural aspects were taken care of, Athara was free of her puzzling charge.

She made it to the main landing bay in time to greet her Master as he disembarked from his own shuttle. She easily fell into step beside him as they strode down the corridor of Stormtroopers.

"Custody of Senator Organa has been transferred successfully, Master. She is available for interrogation at your discretion."

"As I expected. You have done well, my apprentice."

"Thank you, Master." Athara usually basked in any praise she received from Vader, for he only gave it when it was truly deserved. This time, though, there was no need for it. She had taken care of dozens of prisoner transfers in the past and he had never said a word. Something was off, and Athara suspected it had something to do with the situation on Tatooine. The Plans still hadn't been recovered, and something else was bothering Vader.

The temptation to ask what was going on was cut short when the pair met up with Grand Moff Tarkin outside of one of the Death Star's many conference rooms. As the Grand Moff and the Sith Lord exchanged silent greetings, Athara was hard pressed to keep her feelings in check. Tarkin ignored her, of course.

There were very few beings that could inspire the incredible depth of hate within her that Tarkin could. A brief but cutting sidelong glance from Vader told her that her efforts at shielding her thoughts weren't as effective as they should have been. Although, there was a brief flash of something bordering on amusement from her Master. Then again, Vader's feelings for the Grand Moff were similar to her own.

Inside the conference room, a collection of Imperial officers were in heated debate about the effectiveness, and even the purpose, of the Death Star. Commander Tagge and Admiral Motti lead the argument, the conversation moving closer and closer to the realms of the viability of the Rebel Alliance. One thought they were a threat, one did not.

"They're more dangerous than you realize," Tagge growled quietly, exercising his limited flair for the dramatic and showcasing his tendency toward paranoia. Admiral Motti was much more optimistic than his colleague.

"Dangerous to your Starfleet, Commander, not to this Battlestation!"

"The Rebellion will continue to gain support in the Imperial Senate as long as—"

"The Imperial Senate will no longer be of any concern to us." Tarkin leveled the officers with a cool, critical glance as he strode into the room, followed by Vader and Athara. Tarkin certainly had an instinct for when to make the best entrance. He continued speaking, the officers' attention fixed unwaveringly upon him. "I've just received word that the Emperor has dissolved the council permanently. The last remnants of the Old Republic have been swept away." The men around him stared in shock. Even Athara was slightly surprised, though she hid her reaction much better. She had known of the Emperor's plan to dismantle what remained of the old system, but she had expected the act to be a few years or, at the very least, months, away.

The theft of the Death Star Plans must have forced him to accelerate his plans, she mused.

"That's impossible! How will the Emperor maintain control without the bureaucracy?" Tagge was the first to regain his voice after Tarkin's pronouncement, and to vocalize what the rest of his colleagues were thinking. Tarkin was ready with an answer.

"The regional governors now have direct control over their territories. Fear will keep the local systems in line. Fear of this Battlestation." Admiral Motti looked smug. Tagge, of course, wasn't done. Athara was nearly tempted to roll her eyes; he was never satisfied.

"And what of the Rebellion? If the Rebels have obtained a complete technical readout of this station, it is possible, however unlikely, that they might find a weakness and exploit it."

"The Plans you refer to will soon be back in our hands." Vader's statement was short and to the point and, under usual circumstances, usually enough to staunch any debate. Of course, Motti felt the need to elaborate.

"Any attack made by the Rebels against this station would be a useless gesture, no matter what technical data they've obtained. This station is now the ultimate power in the universe. I suggest we use it."

"Don't be too proud of this technological terror you've constructed. The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force." Athara could read the warning signs as her Master broke into the conversation, and they all warned Motti to keep the thoughts going through his head in his head. However, that was too much to ask. Motti was a skeptic. But then, he had had little reason to have anything to do with Vader in the past. Well, he was about to be educated. Fatally so, most like.

"Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerer's ways, Lord Vader. Your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes, or given you clairvoyance enough to find the Rebel's hidden fort—" and then his windpipe was closed off. It seemed he had been the only one not expecting Vader's reaction. The other men surrounding the table were not so oblivious, and had been silently urging the ill-educated Admiral to stop while he was ahead, and still had his life. Vader was a silent, menacing figure as Motti began to fight against the invisible hand cutting off his air supply.

"I find your lack of faith disturbing," the Sith said softly. Athara watched grimly. She may not wholeheartedly approve of all her Master's methods, but she could live with Motti being turned into an example for other foolish Admirals. Tarkin, however, was not amused.

"Enough of this! Vader, release him!"

"As you wish." As Admiral Motti slumped to the table, gasping for air, Athara was hard-pressed to hide her surprise at Vader's willingness to co-operate. Usually he didn't hesitate to make examples of who doubted him, especially when they were as annoying as Motti… And he rarely did anything with an order from Tarkin but take offence. Tarkin didn't waste any time moving on.

"This bickering is pointless. Lord Vader will provide us with the location of the Rebel fortress by the time this station is operational. We will then crush the Rebellion with one swift stroke." Satisfied that his point had been made, Tarkin stood and left the room, leaving several stunned and shaken officers behind in the room with the Sith Lord and his apprentice.

Vader didn't linger long either, and neither did Athara, who followed him closely, pausing only to give Admiral Motti one pointed look. It was actually satisfying to see the way he hesitated, nearly cringing away from her. Vader's conquests, campaigns and military capabilities were undoubtedly well known, as were his Force abilities and his temper. If Motti had doubts before, he certainly didn't now.

Vader soon turned to Athara as they approached the quarters assigned to the Dark Lord.

"See to it that all is ready for my interrogation of the Princess."

"Of course, Master," she hesitated for a moment, "do you wish the droid to be prepared?" Vader continued to gaze at her, his silence telling her exactly what she had been hoping not to hear. Yes, she had implied to the Princess that she would be tortured, but Athara had been hoping it would not be necessary. Now all she could hope for was that the droid was only to intimidate, although her feelings told her otherwise. She stepped closer to the towering Dark Lord, minimizing the already low chance of being overheard.

"Master, if I may object, I do not think that is wise. Even though the Senate has been dismantled and, by extension, she is no longer an Imperial Senator, she is still an Alderaanian Princess and their Ambassador. Torturing her goes against every-"

"Watch your tone, my young apprentice." Athara clenched her jaw to prevent any more of her arguments from spilling out. Vader was already displeased enough.

"Yes, Master," she confirmed, her voice scarcely above a whisper. Vader held a finger up between them, illustrating his sincerity.

"The Stolen Plans are to be recovered by any means necessary. Is that understood?" Athara mutely nodded her head before turning to begin preparations for the interrogation, still smarting from her Master's reprimand. She hated torture. She found it ill-conceived and largely ineffective. Under torture, a subject would say anything. Stories and intelligence distorted or fabricated by pain and desperation were not reliable sources of information.

It did not take long to prepare one of the Interrogation Droids for the Princess' session. By the time Vader appeared, Athara was sitting in one of the cell block terminal chairs, staring blankly down the aisle of detention cells. Sensing her Master as he ducked into the detention area, she stood, turning toward him. Since her features were hidden within the confines of her wide black cowl, she didn't bother to hide the frustrated look on her face, nor shield her thoughts very well. Vader stared at her for a moment, his displeasure briefly washing over her. For once, Athara didn't care. Her feelings told her this was wrong, and right now it didn't matter where those feelings came from.

Flanked by two black-garbed Security Officers, Vader made his way to the Princess' cell. Athara followed close behind, guiding the Interrogation Droid. The door to the young Senator's compartment whooshed open and two of the guards stepped inside followed by Vader himself. Athara was tempted to smile at the defiant expression on the Princess' face. That temptation was quashed when Vader took control of the Droid and maneuvered it into the cell after him. The rage Athara felt as the Leia's expression turned from defiance to fear was bewildering, but she had her orders. She was to stay outside the cell. Vader could not afford another outburst like the one she had earlier. As the door whooshed shut and the Patrolling Officer marched by, Athara could only lean against the bulkhead as she let the rage wash through her.

As if on cue, the soothing feeling emerged through the Force, helping her to control her anger so she could think clearly without the veil of her anger clouding her judgment. There was nothing she could do about Vader's methods. She was only an apprentice after all, and she deferred to her Master's judgment.


	4. Chapter 3

It wasn't long before Athara lost track of time, and it was a while after that that Vader emerged from the cell, his frustration pouring off him in waves. Wisely, Athara didn't say a word. Without him saying anything she took control of the Droid from her Master, allowing him to storm off to calm himself before relating his findings to Tarkin.

Personally, Athara thought he should go to Tarkin immediately. Then, at least, she'd never have to deal with the slimy Grand Moff again...

Passing the Droid off to one of the Security Officers, Athara ducked into the Princess' cell. Needless to say, Athara was more compassionate than her Master, but then, there were few who weren't. Still, however slight her ability for compassion sometimes was, she still felt duty-bound to see to the condition of any prisoner under her charge.

The Princess was sprawled across the thin, unforgiving metallic cot, still incapacitated from the numerous serum injections the droid had given her. Giving the young Alderaanian a quick once over, Athara was relieved to see that injections seemed to be the only method Vader had relied on. The Princess would be reeling for a few days, but otherwise she would have no real scars.

Not physically, anyway.

Gently, Athara reached for her, intending to move the Princess into a more comfortable position. She hesitated when a pair of confusion- and pain-fogged brown eyes met hers. The two young women stared at each other for a moment before Leia jerked away, her movements painfully uncoordinated. When she spoke, her speech was slow and slurred.

"What do you want? Haven't you asked me enough questions?" Impressed at the coherence the Princess retained after the introduction of so many interrogation drugs to her system, Athara held her hands up in a non-threatening gesture, keeping her voice low.

"There are no more questions, Princess. I'm just here to be sure that you have no injuries in need of medical attention." Leia still fixed Athara with a suspicious look, huddling farther into the corner of her cell.

Suddenly feeling the need to escape the cramped cell, Athara turned and left, the Princess' heaving sobs abruptly cut off as the door whooshed shut.

Athara could only wander once she left the detention area, her thoughts too muddled to consider going anywhere else. Thankfully, while she wandered no one thought to interrupt her musings. Whether that was thanks to her current forbidding appearance and aura, or the recognition as the mysterious figure that usually stood at the Dark Lord's side, she didn't know and frankly couldn't care.

Eventually she wandered toward the Dark Force signature that signaled her Master's location. During her wanderings she had felt the ship's laborious jump to lightspeed beneath her feet, but ideas as to the Death Star's destination stayed in the back of her thoughts, and those thoughts were many. She pondered the meaning of her visions, her reaction to the torture of the captive Princess and even went so far as to ponder her stance on the Death Star's purpose and the Emperor's intentions for the monstrous ship whose halls she now strode.

Eventually she tried to push those thoughts aside, forcing herself to muse for a few moments about what to do with the _Tantive IV_. She was quite tempted to keep it. It was a spoil of war, after all, and she would be perfectly within her rights to keep it, especially as Vader had all but given it to her. For clarity, of course, she would have to clear it with him, but that wasn't likely to be an issue. She had already ordered the necessary repairs to ensure basic systems and the primary engines were operational again. It would still have to be repaired further, repainted and renamed obviously. Refurbishing and redecorating it could be an option as well. It was a good ship... Unfortunately, making Plans for the _Tantive IV_ didn't quite banish her previous thoughts as effectively as she hoped.

Before long she was in her Master's presence and had to push all of her musings aside, purposeful and unwanted thoughts alike. It was then that she noticed the Death Star had dropped from hyperspace. Her senses and mind sharpening, she focused on her Master.

"I want you to collect the Princess and bring her up to meet me in the main Control Room." When he refused to elaborate why the Princess was needed there, Athara risked questioning him. He was still in a highly volatile mood.

"If I may ask, Master, what is going on? Where are we?" Vader looked at her for a moment, as if wondering why she wouldn't know. His feelings were well shielded.

"We are approaching Alderaan. The Grand Moff has decided on a method to further encourage the Princess to cooperate." Athara could feel the blood drain from her face at Vader's implications. The Death Star was created to inspire fear. Tarkin didn't mean to actually use it, did he? The implications were staggering. For the first time in a long while, her Master was wary, and Athara couldn't help but feel afraid.

Athara's pace was brisk as she made her way once again to the detention level to collect the Princess. It wasn't long before she stood outside the cell door, but the Sith apprentice had to take a moment to collect herself before opening it. This was one of the things her visions had been warning against, that she was certain of. The feeling of foreboding was so strong now.

She had a bad feeling about this.

Her time ran out when the two troopers she had called for arrived. Gesturing slightly toward the control panel, she had a hard time focusing enough to even open the door, but she didn't dare do it manually; her hands were shaking too much.

When the door finally flew open, Athara and the two troopers stepped in. Grim-faced, she took stock of the Princess' condition, momentarily impressed yet again by how well she had recovered so far. The young Senator still sat in the corner, but she was no longer curling in on herself. The troopers moved forward to cuff her and pull her to her feet where she wobbled for a moment before regaining her balance. Athara struggled to maintain her indifferent expression. The Princess was already wearing her mask of defiance.

"So, where is it that I'm being dragged to now?" Athara was almost tempted to smile at her spunk.

"I see you are recovering quickly. The Grand Moff wishes to speak with you."

"Why am I not surprised." If Athara didn't know any better, she would have believed the Princess, but her senses told her that Leia was indeed surprised, even if it only lasted for a second. Then suspicion took over. When the Princess didn't say anything more, Athara stepped out of the cell followed closely by the Princess and her escort.

It didn't take long before they reached the main entrance to the Control Room where Vader was waiting for them. Athara could feel Princess Leia recoil slightly behind her as she caught sight of the towering Dark Lord. Without hesitation or conversation, Athara lead the Princess and her escorts into the corridor leading to the main Control room with a short glance at Vader. Two more Security Officers fell into step just in front of Athara while Vader followed just behind the Princess.

Tarkin stood before the massive viewscreen that framed a very small-looking Alderaan. Athara could once again feel the Princess stiffen before forcing herself to relax and adopt her diplomatic demeanor. Stepping just off to the side, Athara stopped beside her Master while Princess Leia strode defiantly up to Tarkin, who was listening to a more subdued Admiral Motti pointedly relay their arrival at Alderaan. She sensed Leia's surprise at their location, but the Princess didn't hesitate, even when Vader came to a halt so close behind her that she could lean back against him.

"Governor Tarkin, I should have expected to find you holding Vader's leash. I recognized your foul stench when I was brought on board." Athara could feel her Master tense at the implication that Tarkin gave him orders, as well as Tarkin's flare of irritation at the Princess' comment. However, the Grand Moff just smiled as sweetly as he could, which wasn't in the least reassuring.

"Charming to the last." He reached a gaunt hand to cup the Princess' chin. "You don't know how hard I found it signing the order to terminate your life." She pulled away and he dropped his hand as she replied, barely trying to mask her enjoyment at baiting the man from her voice.

"I'm surprised you had the courage to take the responsibility yourself." Tarkin was not amused. But Athara was, though her enjoyment was far less than it normally would have been thanks to her current level of anxiety.

"Princess Leia, before your execution I would like you to be my guest at a ceremony that will make this Battlestation operational. No star system will dare oppose the Emperor now." The Grand Moff placed particular emphasis on the word _execution_ as he stepped away, gesturing grandly at the expansive Control Room before once again turning to face the Princess and her escorts. Leia boldly scoffed, masking her fear as best she could.

"The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers." Her tone was obviously patronizing, but Tarkin was enjoying himself far too much to be seriously bothered by it anymore. Athara knew what was coming next, and that was the threat. She found herself wishing the Princess would reveal the information Tarkin craved.

"Not after we demonstrate the power of this station." Tarkin slowly approached the Princess, his finger held almost threateningly in Leia's direction. "In a way, you have determined the choice of the planet that'll be destroyed first. Since you are reluctant to provide us with the location of the Rebel base, I have chosen to test this station's destructive power on your home planet of Alderaan." He turned to stare out the viewport at the tiny blue planet. Leia lunged forward, all diplomatic facades gone.

"No! Alderaan is peaceful. We have no weapons. You can't possibly—" Tarkin turned, abruptly silencing the Princess. Now, here was the ultimatum.

"You would prefer another target? A military target? Then name the system!" The Grand Moff moved one step closer, then another, until Leia was backed up against Vader. When Tarkin spoke again, his voice was low and threatening.

"I grow tired of asking this. So it'll be the last time. Where is the Rebel base?" Leia could only stare over his shoulder at her Homeworld. Athara almost couldn't breathe in apprehension, silently begging the Force for Leia to give up the Rebels and for Tarkin to spare Alderaan. She didn't even care anymore if her thoughts were shielded from her Master. She knew he didn't want Tarkin to give the order anymore than she did just by the way he had tensed when Tarkin gave his ultimatum. However, the Dark Lord remained silent. Athara couldn't even pick-up a whisper of his thoughts. The silent seconds grew to minutes before Leia spoke. Athara could feel the Princess's mind whirring to come up with a Planet to replace Alderaan. She wasn't truly going to reveal the location of the Rebel base.

"Dantooine," she said, struggling to put the pain of surrender and the betrayal of her cause into her voice as she looked up at Tarkin. The Princess couldn't afford to show him her hate or her lie. Leia's head and shoulders drooped in resignation as she repeated the fake location. "They're on Dantooine."

"There. You see Lord Vader, she can be reasonable." Athara knew Vader could feel the Princess' lie just as easily as she could, but for the moment he was content to let Tarkin think he had succeeded, especially if that feeling of success were to spare Alderaan. They both knew that destroying a planet such as Alderaan would only galvanize the Rebels and push more to their cause. Vader might not be as politically savant as the Emperor or Tarkin, but he was a seasoned leader; she knew he recognized how unwise destroying Alderaan would be from that perspective alone.

Athara's relief was cut short though, as was her Master's and the Princess's. Tarkin immediately turned from smirking at Vader to Admiral Motti, who was standing by for just such an order.

"Continue with the operation. You may fire when ready." Athara's eyes widened in a shock and panic that matched that of her Master's before those final words had left the Grand Moff's mouth, but their sense of panic and horror were nothing compared to the Princess'.

"What?" The disbelief on Leia's face was almost painful to witness. Tarkin was enjoying the terror he saw on the Princess' face far too much.

"You're far too trusting. Dantooine is too remote to make an effective demonstration. But don't worry. We will deal with your Rebel friends soon enough."

"No..." Leia tried to run forward, but to what end, Athara didn't know. Vader reached out to pull the Princess back against him, restraining her with a mere touch. It was a testament to the strength of the horror and disbelief the Princess was feeling that she didn't even try to fight back. Athara knew what was coming, had known instinctively what was coming before the words even left Tarkin's mouth, but she could do nothing to stop it or even prepare herself. She was frozen with the same horror that diminished the Princess's will to fight back. Even she, who could feel the deepest, darkest depths of Wilhuff Tarkin's depravity, could not have predicted this.

With sick anticipation, the Princess and the Sith apprentice could feel the great weapon powering up beneath their feet. Time seemed to stand still as the monstrous space station seemed to hum to life around them. Then Leia, Athara, and even Vader watched in horror as a vivid green bolt of energy shot with terrible accuracy straight into the heart of the peaceful little planet.

It was as though all the breath and the ability to ever breathe again had been crushed out of Athara's chest. Terrible, deafening screams burst into her head and a fathomless black void flashed before her eyes. She was all alone in a cold, crushing emptiness being battered from all sides by the unimaginable terror of feeling millions of lives being suddenly ended in one fiery, blasting moment. For the briefest instant she was frozen in place, unable to move a muscle.

Then it seemed to strike her physically. Her hands flew to her head and a strangled cry of her own escaped her lips as a wave of indescribable fear and horror plowed into her mind. The pain was immense, all but knocking her senseless as the feel of all those terrible final moments were suddenly cut off, as though they had never happened or even existed. She still couldn't breathe; her lungs had forgotten how to work. She could still hear the now distant screams echoing through her mind even as Leia screamed beside her. She could feel the floor dropping from beneath her feet as an iron grip closed around her arm.

Then the rage began to build, and she used it to force air back into her lungs and to order her vision to clear. Distantly she heard the distinctive cracking of viewscreens and monitors throughout the bridge, and subconsciously she realized that it was because she was beginning to lose control. But she didn't care in that moment; her thoughts were far too shattered and she was far too angry to keep her power remotely in check.

The debris field where Alderaan once existed was barely visible amid the deep blackness of space. Leia, having collapsed the instant Alderaan had disintegrated under the power of that vicious green bolt, painfully fell upon herself in grief and agony as her screams slowly became wails and eventually sobs. Athara had only remained on her feet because of her Master's steadying hand, although she could sense he was experiencing the same horrible feelings she was. He was only in better shape physically because of the extent his body had been mechanized. Internally, his mind was just as ravaged and horrified as his apprentice's. But, like his apprentice, the rage conjured by the annihilation of Alderaan allowed the Dark Side to flood his being, giving him back some semblance of control.

In stark contrast to mere seconds earlier, Athara now felt completely hollow save for the rage that was slowly allowing her to regain control of herself. Around her, Tarkin was already ordering scouts to be sent to Dantooine and for the sobbing Princess to be escorted back to her cell, as well as for a maintenance crew to be brought to the command centre. Vader, having recovered more quickly than his apprentice, began leading the two of them out of the Control Room. Distantly, Athara felt herself being pulled away from the scene that had just unfolded before her eyes, still unable to tear her gaze from where Alderaan had been what already seemed like an eon ago.

Uncomprehending, Athara was led back the quarters she and her Master shared, her thoughts still too ravaged to think clearly. The last thing she felt before sinking into a cold oblivion was a blast of rage and helplessness that rocked the space station to the core.


	5. Chapter 4

It wasn't long before Athara came to, though her head was pounding in the aftermath of Alderaan's destruction. It was a testament to her bruised and battered state of mind that one of the first truly coherent thoughts that popped into her head was that comfort of the mysterious presence would certainly be welcome now.

As if in response, a fleeting brush of concern touched her mind before vanishing without a trace. Groaning, she pushed all thought of the feeling or presence or whatever it was aside. Carefully she pulled herself to her feet and stumbled the first few steps to the 'fresher. After splashing cold water in her face several times, trying to clear the feelings and the mental ache lingering from the mental devastation Alderaan's destruction had wreaked upon her mind, she looked up into the mirror above the sink.

She should've expected the vivid yellow eyes that stared back at her, but they still startled her nonetheless. She had fully immersed herself in the Dark Side to shield her mind from the shock of feeling an entire planet's destruction; of course it was going to manifest itself. Then again, she so rarely immersed herself so completely that having her eyes change from a dark grey-blue to a garish yellow was always a bit of a shock. That's why she usually avoided mirrors when she let the Dark Side have free reign over her.

Tugging off her now crumpled cloak, Athara set about at least putting the rest of her appearance to rights since there was little she could do about her eyes. For that, she needed to be patient until the effects of the Dark Side's use wore off.

She had messed up, big time, and she knew it.

From the instant that the laser beam reached Alderaan's atmosphere Athara's memory was blurred. Even after she submerged herself in the Dark Side, her mind hadn't cleared enough to process exactly what happened next. She vaguely remembered letting loose a wave of rage that damaged consoles and viewscreens. After that, she recalled only that Vader had pulled her away from the Control Room and even carried her part of the way to their quarters. She had been so unprepared for Alderaan's destruction that she had lost control completely. She had released enough power in her pain and fury that the damage she caused was akin to that a violent outburst from her Master would produce.

Now she was afraid she had ruined everything her Master had worked so hard to do in order to train her, to protect her. There was no doubt the Emperor would have felt something of her outburst. Alderaan's destruction may have drowned out the extent of it, but he would know. Whether or not her cover was blown was now a lingering concern for Athara, and she couldn't stop herself from begging the Force that it wasn't.

Pushing her fears aside as best she could, she quickly brushed out her long, honey-brown hair, braiding bits back to keep most of the persistent strands out of her face before coiling and pinning the rest of it at the base of her skull. She then washed her face, hoping her complexion would once again be clear, and not the blotchy red that high emotions and trauma caused. Her long burgundy tunic was horribly wrinkled but Athara did her best to smooth it out. It wouldn't do to appear as disheveled and agitated as she felt.

Throughout her limited lessons on Sith history and theory, the things past Masters of her order had done in the pursuit of power had repulsed her, though she never allowed herself to show it. Anything that created pain, fear and anger was a potential conduit of the Dark Side; a way to channel and gather more power than a single Dark Lord of the Sith could summon on his own. With that kind of massive potential, the Sith Lords of the past had done awesome, terrible things, things that had given Athara nightmares for weeks. She was not like that, and while her Master would use the fear of his opponents against them, he would never use something as abominable as the destruction of an entire planet to fuel his own power. It was unthinkable, even for Vader.

The Emperor on the other hand...

As satisfied with her appearance as she could be, Athara made her way to the main chamber of her and Vader's large set of rooms. They were in no way opulent and, if anything, were rather bare, even neglected. Vader didn't need anything to liven up his suite of rooms—arguably he made a point not to—and Athara followed his example. Possessions were unnecessary to them. What use did they have of material things beyond necessities? Sure, Athara had the odd little trinket that she carried with her, but while she was aboard ships and Battlestations there was little point. In her suite of apartments on Coruscant, however, she had indulged herself and allowed for some decoration and possessions to personalize her quarters. It was still nothing compared to the opulence of the Emperor's Palace, though.

As soon as she stepped out of her private quarters, she was greeted by the sight of Vader staring out of the large viewport that dominated one wall of the main room. She could sense an extreme amount of turmoil coming from her Master, and it was making Athara wary. She silently came up to stand beside the stoic Dark Lord.

They stood in silence for several moments, staring out into space, Vader's respirator the only sound in the otherwise empty rooms. She could feel nothing within the endless void before her. It was massively unnerving. She should feel something, but then, there was now no life in the Alderaan System save that which was aboard the Death Star. It was a long while before her Master spoke.

"Dantooine was the location of a Rebel Base, only it had been abandoned some time ago." Athara continued staring out the viewport. That was no surprise. The Princess's lie had been obvious to the Force-users in the Control Room.

"It is safe to assume then that Tarkin was less than pleased."

"That is correct. He ordered the Princess to be executed immediately." Athara's breath hitched for a moment, but she tried to contain her reaction. It didn't work. Vader looked down at his apprentice. "You feel it ought to be otherwise?" Athara scrambled for a response.

"I believe that—that she has not yet outlived her usefulness." The reasoning sounded false, even desperate to the apprentice's ears, but she could not take it back now. Besides, it was the only acceptable reason she could think of to try and keep the Princess alive. Vader seemed almost amused.

"That is perhaps the only reason she still lives." This time Athara managed to keep her reaction, a sigh of relief, to herself. She still could not shake the feeling that the Princess was important, and therefore must stay alive. Before Athara could say anything further, the intercom beeped.

"Lord Vader, a small cargo ship has been detected entering the Alderaan system. Grand Moff Tarkin requests your presence in the Primary Officer's conference room." Vader stood silent for a moment, obviously thinking, before turning and making his way out of the suite. Athara, once again feeling the touch of events being put in motion, had little choice but to follow.

Before long, the pair was standing in the conference room again, waiting for word that the ship was secure in one of the landing bays. Almost as soon as it sounded, Tarkin answered the buzzing intercom.

"Yes?"

"We've captured a freighter entering the remains of the Alderaan system. Its markings match those of a ship that blasted its way out of Mos Eisley." Athara glanced over at Vader. She hadn't been told of that. That could be the explanation she was looking for as to his foul mood earlier. Her suspicions seemed right, as Vader perked up a little at the news. Perhaps now he would be able to retrieve the Plans? Athara wasn't convinced that was the reason. There was something else going on, something elusive. She pushed the feeling from her mind; it was too distracting.

"They must be trying to return the stolen Plans to the Princess. She may yet be of some use to us." Turning, Vader nodded sharply to his apprentice. Athara understood immediately and left the room, quickly making her way to the landing bay.

The search was already under way by the time Athara reached the small, junky-looking ship, so she didn't see the need to interfere until something truly needed her attention. So she waited patiently at the bottom of the ramp for the initial search to be completed. It wasn't long after that Vader himself appeared. Almost instantly an officer appeared to make a report.

"There's no one on board, sir. According to the log, the crew abandoned ship right after takeoff. It must be a decoy, sir. Several of the escape pods have been jettisoned." Athara wasn't wholly convinced. This was all too coincidental. This ship was here for a reason. Apparently Vader thought so as well, though his attention seemed to be drawn elsewhere.

"Did you find any droids?"

"No, sir. If there were any on board, they must also have jettisoned." It was all very puzzling. An empty ship that just happens to appear in the system soon after Alderaan was destroyed? It was hiding something, though just what, Athara wasn't sure. Curious as to what was diverting the Dark Lord's attention, she let herself take a quick scan of the ship using the Force. There was something there all right; she just couldn't put her finger on exactly what, or who, it was. For some inexplicable reason, it seemed familiar...

"Send a scanning crew on board. I want every part of this ship checked."

"Yes, sir." The Officer in charge was efficient and was immediately calling for a scanning crew. He didn't hold Athara's attention for long though. The mysterious presence was enough to distract her, but Vader's reaction was something else.

"I sense something...a presence I haven't felt since..." He said it to himself, almost unaware that he had said anything at all. Then he suddenly turned and strode purposefully out of the hangar. Athara, her curiosity piqued, could do nothing but follow. The officers in charge of searching the ship could handle it. Besides, she had a feeling that if anything were to happen, it would only do so after Athara and Vader left.

Vader began the trek back to the Conference room, but paused for a moment, turning to his apprentice.

"I want you to go to the detention block and check on the Princess, then meet me in the main hangar when the scans are completed."

"Master, what is going on?"

"I'm not entirely certain, but one thing is clear. That ship was not empty."

"I understand that, but why didn't we search it instead of letting the scanning crews do it?"

"That is my concern. You have your instructions, my apprentice." Athara was slightly stunned by the slight. Vader was usually quite open with her in matters like this. He was hiding something, and it had something to do with that mysterious presence onboard the freighter.

"Yes, Master, but—" Vader silenced her with a glance before marching away. Frustrated, Athara stormed off, reaching the detention level much quicker than any previous occasion. Snapping at the Officers on duty, she received a short, detailed report as to the Princess' security and left detailed instructions should anything out of the ordinary happen. With nothing more to be done, Athara wasted no time leaving the detention block. Having little else to do, she quietly made her way towards the conference room where Vader was no doubt bringing Tarkin up to date. Shielding her presence, since she was sure she wasn't invited into the debriefing, she stationed herself outside the door, just within earshot. The voices, though muffled, were audible when she used the Force to heighten her senses. Vader was pacing, his Force signature betraying his obvious agitation.

"He is here." Tarkin didn't sound wholly convinced by Vader's statement.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi! What makes you think so?" The name was familiar to Athara, though she couldn't quite place it, and so filed the tidbit of information away for later.

"A tremor in the Force. The last time I felt it was in the presence of my old Master." Vader's old Master? It wasn't the first time Athara had heard her Master mention a Master of his that predated the Emperor, but it was the first time she'd heard a name to go with it.

"Surely he must be dead by now."

"Don't underestimate the power of the Force."

"The Jedi are extinct, their fire has gone out of the universe. You, my friend, are all that's left of their religion." A Jedi? Here? Perhaps that was why the presence seemed so familiar? Essentially, Jedi were similar to the Sith, though with a much narrower interpretation of the Force and how to control it. Still, that wasn't what nagged at Athara about the presence. There was something else, but she still couldn't place it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a nearly silent buzz from the intercom, which Tarkin promptly answered, his voice betraying that his thoughts were still on the possible re-appearance of a supposedly dead Jedi. The voice from the intercom was almost too quiet to hear, and what Athara heard was enough to spark her temper and start her on a series of silent but colourful self-reprimands.

"Governor Tarkin, we have an Emergency Alert in detention block AA-twenty-three." Athara thought 'the Princess' at almost the same time as Tarkin said it. Without waiting to hear another word, Athara was already heading down toward the detention block. Apparently it had been a mistake to leave the detention block.

The sight that met her was one of chaos. What remained of a squad of Stormtroopers was firing into the row of cells that held the Princess. Billowing white smoke from damaged consoles and security features filled the room, and sparks flew all over the place. Over the noise filling the detention block, Athara could hear the signal being given for the whole station to be put on alert. Not pausing to join the fray, Athara ducked behind the remaining troopers to one of the few remaining consoles. Quickly pulling up their location on the screen, Athara examined the layout of the cellblock. The only entrance was blocked, but there were a couple of garbage chutes. Since the only blasterfire now was coming from the troopers, the Princess and her rescue party were either dead, dying, hiding in one of the many cells down that corridor, or had possibly (though unlikely) escaped down a garbage chute. Strengthening her voice with the Force to carry over the din created by the blasters and ricochets, Athara swiftly took control of the situation.

"Troopers, stand down." As the blasterfire ceased, the Sith apprentice started giving orders to secure the area, starting with the control room before investigating the virtually trashed corridor and all the adjoining cells. Striding easily over the debris, Athara personally made sure every cell passed was cleared of the Rebels. It was as though they disappeared into thin air. As she passed one of the garbage chutes, she made a point to check it. The primary hatch was blown away, but the secondary hatch was closed, indicating the garbage bay was in the middle of its compacting cycle. If the Rebels had escaped down there, they would soon be dead. Still, Athara made a mental note to have that particular garbage bay searched and cleared of the rebel's remains should the rest of the search turn up empty.

Before long, it became evident that the search of the detention level wasn't going to reveal the Rebels. Her anger beginning to get the best of her, Athara ordered half the troopers to remain behind, and for another squad to head for the pressure maintenance hatch of the detention level's primary garbage-masher. The other remaining half of the first squad was to begin searching the rest of the detention level, with two more squads on the way to assist. Satisfied that the search was well on the way, Athara started down to the garbage-masher's only other access point. When she was about half way there, alarms began sounding and one of her Stormtrooper commanders approached her.

"Ma'am, the Rebels have been engaged, but they have split up, they may be on both levels five and six now."

"Alert your men, and get two more squads to head them off in the Hangar bay. They'll want to reach their ship. They must not be allowed to escape." _I need to see this Obi-wan Kenobi_ , she added silently to herself as the Commander hurried off to obey her orders.

She was about to follow when a disturbance in the Force snatched her attention. Without hesitation, she began running towards it, sensing the elusive Obi-wan was in the presence of her Master. She didn't even care when her cowl was swept from her face, she was so anxious to reach them. For the moment she had time. While she sensed that her Master meant to kill the Jedi, for the moment they seemed to be toying with each other. Vader seemed to be disappointed and annoyed, while it felt like the Jedi was...stalling?

As she circled the Hangar bay to reach Vader and Kenobi, she noticed, briefly that the troopers were moving away from the captured ship. It was then that she heard the distinctive sound of lightsabers. She came up on them from the corridor behind Vader, stopping in her tracks at the sight of the clashing blades.

Right away, she could tell the duel wasn't serious, as both assailants were only using the most basic of thrusts, slashes and parries. Even so, the sense of déjà vu was overwhelming, as was the sense of foreboding. This battle was an echo of one even more vicious, one that Athara could almost see as it played to its conclusion out of the corner of her eye; a battle in the midst of fire and ash. The comforting presence had returned, though it was wary, something that heightened Athara's unease.

She wasn't the only one watching the Dark Lord in his duel with the aging Jedi; something caught the Jedi's attention, prompting him to look over his shoulder for a brief moment. Turning his gaze back to Vader, he smiled a slow, knowing smile.

It was as though the following moment played out in slow motion. The Jedi, who looked and felt so familiar to the Sith apprentice, took a deliberate step back and deactivated his saber, the knowing smile leaving his features to be replace with an expression of acceptance. Once again, Athara knew exactly what was going to happen the instant before it did and was powerless to stop it.

In one sweeping arc Vader swung the blade of his ruby lightsaber toward his rival. It was then that the old Jedi's eyes met hers. In that split-second, the surprise and shock in Kenobi's eyes froze Athara in her tracks the instant before Vader's red blade reached its target.

It never reached the Jedi, his form dissolving leaving only his tattered, well-worn robes behind.

"No!" Athara cried out in the same moment as an equally disbelieving voice screamed from the hangar bay. Blasterfire erupted as the troopers realized the Rebels were behind them, and shouts echoed through the hangar. Vader silently walked forward to the now empty robes that lay on the cold durasteel floor. Athara was still too stunned to care that she should even now be trying to stop the Rebels' escape.

The Jedi was gone. Vanished into thin air.

She didn't even know why this was affecting her so.

It was as though she was suddenly overcome with grief for a man she'd never met. A connection she'd never known existed was suddenly severed with the gleaming flash of her Master's lightsaber.

She stared at her Master incredulously as he turned from where the Jedi's body should have been laying. However, as he was about to step towards the Hangar bay, he stopped in his tracks, his Force signature betraying a curious blend of bewilderment and shock. But Athara didn't care; she didn't even truly register the shift in her Master, she was so affected by the Jedi's death. Slowly, she edged forward to the brown pile of threadbare, old robes. They were obviously in the style Jedi had been know to wear, and the way the old man had been in tune with the Force confirmed in her mind that he was indeed a Jedi. His presence still seemed to linger as Athara knelt beside the pile.

After a moment she reached out a shaky hand to pick up the lightsaber that still lay in among the robes. It was old and had obviously been its wielder's companion for many long, hard years. It had been well cared for, and still in good working order. The hilt gleamed a little in the artificial light, and it had a blue blade, she recalled. It still felt warm in her hand.

The old lightsaber clutched tightly in her hand, Athara stood and faced her Master. Vader was staring down at her, his black mask unreadable and his respirator working steadily. Behind the blastdoors, now closed, she could faintly hear the sound of the freighter taking off. The Master and apprentice stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before Athara held the lightsaber out in front of her.

"Who was he?" Her voice was quiet, almost desperate, and rose as she continued. She needed to know. "Why do I know him?" She could feel frustrated tears prickling in the corners of her eyes, and her head was beginning to pound from residual stress and yet more frustration. Her Master said nothing, and just continued to watch her, giving no hint to his feelings.

Her temper straining to break free, Athara turned on her heel, stalking away with Kenobi's lightsaber still clenched in her fist as she absently jerked her hood forward to once again cover her face. It took a lot to get her to lose her temper, and she was getting dangerously close for the second time in as many days. Around her she could hear orders being called over the intercom and all stations being told to stand down. She knew by now that the freighter would be engaged with the patrolling TIE fighters, but she really couldn't care. Once Vader had realized the ship wasn't empty he would've had a tracking device planted somewhere on the hull on the off chance they would 'escape'.

Eventually she found herself back in her quarters, sitting on her military issue bed. She held the now masterless lightsaber in her lap, her eyes staring past it as she turned it over and over again in her hands. There were too many questions left unanswered, too many mysteries that gnawed at her. The most pressing on her mind was that of Obi-wan Kenobi. In her reckless state of mind, she was almost tempted to access the Imperial Database and find any information she could on the old Jedi. Her more logical side almost immediately discarded the idea, though. He had been a Jedi, after all. As such, any access to records on the man would be flagged. She didn't particularly wish for the Emperor to know that this man had her so worked up that she would blindly venture into whatever holofiles she could get her hands on.

So she sat, sometimes sinking into an answerless meditation, sometimes just staring blankly at nothing. At some point, she felt the dark presence of her Master enter the rooms, but he didn't make any effort to talk to her. It was not his way. The comforting presence was noticeably absent.

Eventually, Athara pulled herself from her stupor. This was pointless. She wasn't getting the answers she craved anytime soon, and as much as the prospect of the Death Star's destruction pleased her, it was her duty to protect her Master and his Master's interests. The Rebels no doubt had the Death Star Plans in their possession now, or soon would, and were likely planning their attack as she sat here trying to answer unanswerable questions. Changing her rumpled clothes for a new, clean black tunic to go over her breeches and shirt, she pulled on her utility belt, complete with saber, and her cloak as she left the apartment. Kenobi's lightsaber was slid into a deep pocket of her tunic, safely out of sight.

The Death Star was preparing for a jump to hyperspace, and the many corridors were teeming with activity. They were preparing for a battle. It wasn't long before she met up with her Master in the conference room.

"Master." Vader nodded his head in acknowledgement of his apprentice's curt greeting, but kept his attention focused on the briefing taking place before him. Once again the table held several Admirals and Commanders. Tarkin was taking his time relating how the Death Star would drop from hyperspace before the planet Yavin. As of yet, the Rebel freighter still had to land, but its trajectory did indicate the fourth moon was its destination.

The current plan stipulated that the Battlestation would orbit the planet upon arrival, waiting for the Rebels to lead them to their hidden base and allowing the station to recover from the enormous power-drain the trip through hyperspace would inevitably cause. Then, once the location was confirmed, the Death Star would allow the gas planet's gravitational pull to bring the station within firing distance— _eventually_ , Athara sardonically added to herself—and destroy the Rebels once and for all. It was rather inconvenient, Athara mused, that the massive station had such ridiculous power requirements and limited maneuvering capabilities this close to the planet. The Death Star's firepower was really its only redeemable quality, and even that was debatable. Thankfully, Tarkin wasn't considering just blowing up the Gas Giant…at least, so Athara hoped. There would be no point anyway, and it would take too long to recharge the Superlaser's fuelcells in order to destroy the Rebel's base if he were to do any such thing.

Soon after, as the various officers began to file out of the room after Tarkin, Vader finally turned his apprentice.

"I wish for you to contact the _Devastator_ and order the Admiral to rendezvous with us in the Yavin System. You will then take command and remain out of sensor range on the far side of the planet."

"But Mas—"

"Those are my orders, my apprentice. Do not disobey me." Athara couldn't believe what her instructions were. It seemed Vader was anticipating a substantial Rebel resistance. Why else would he want the _Devastator_ on stand-by but to lend support, and even to finish what the Battlestation had started?

Unless he wanted her away from the battle...but why would he want that? She was a fair pilot and a good tactician and commander; she would be useful if it came down to a battle. A niggling thought that he might be punishing her surfaced, but she quickly pushed that aside. Vader was many things, but not petty. If he thought she would be an asset, he wouldn't keep her from contributing because he was angry with her. She hastened to follow him, trailing him through the corridors before finally managing to catch up with him.

"Master, I would be of more use at your side. I will of course send word to the _Devastator_ , but I see no reason why I should take command at this time."

"You will be of no use to me if this Battlestation falls." Vader's voice was as sharp as the vocorder would allow, but that didn't keep Athara from feeling exactly what Vader feared. He sensed the Death Star would be threatened, and he wanted her safe. Her initial suspicions had been right after all. It was the closest thing to one of the softer emotions that Athara had felt from Vader in a long time, perhaps ever. All she had ever really felt from him before was frustration, rage, and any other nameable hate or anger-centered emotion. Periodically she felt pride or amusement, but it was always fleeting. In a single moment of insight beyond his substantial mental defenses, Athara could sense he was afraid of the fall-out from her loss of control and what would happen if the Emperor knew of her potential. But his most immediate concern for the moment was for her safety; he feared to lose her. That was what was at the heart of his order. Chastened, Vader's apprentice nodded her head before slowly backing away from the volatile Dark Lord.

"It will be done, my Master." With one last critical look, Vader stormed away, leaving a trail of shell-shocked officers and troopers in his wake. Realizing full well that their argument would have been better kept private, Athara didn't linger, wasting no time in sending Vader's orders to the _Devastator_.

Within moments of her transmission to Vader's Primary Star Destroyer, she felt the Death Star jump to hyperspace.

Athara soon made her way to the conference room after quickly gathering what little in the way of possessions she had in preparation for transfer to the _Devastator_. She didn't allow herself the chance to dwell on any of the chaotic and even fearful thoughts rushing through her brain. There would be time enough for that later. For the moment, she pushed every last one of them aside, prepared to focus on what lay ahead. Once again, as she entered the conference room to see Vader and Tarkin standing at the table, she was met with the same sense of foreboding that had accompanied every major event in the last few days. Picking one of the high-backed chairs, Athara settled casually in one of them, allowing herself to take a small amount of pleasure in how the perceived impertinence of her action irritated Tarkin. He didn't like being reminded that he had power over her and her Master.

Only Vader's respirator broke the tense silence as the three Imperial agents waited for the report that they had arrived in the system where the Rebel Base was hidden. Irritation once again pricked at Athara — the Death Star was painfully slow.

Eventually a faint buzzer informed them that the waiting was over.

"We are approaching the planet Yavin. The Rebel base is on a moon on the far side. We are preparing to orbit the planet." The comm light blinked out as the connection was cut. Within seconds Athara's personal Comlink buzzed. Her gaze switching from Vader to Tarkin and back again, she quietly answered the Commander on the other end.

"My Lady Obscura, contact has been made with the _Devastator_ and they are awaiting your arrival. Your personal shuttle is on stand-by."

"Very good, Commander. Tell my shuttle to prepare for immediate departure." Stowing the metallic device back on her belt as she abandoned her seat, she fixed her Master with one final look before turning to the Grand Moff.

"Master, Governor Tarkin. It has been a pleasure." For once, she didn't bother to hide the hint of sarcasm from her voice. The way Tarkin's gaunt face tightened did improve her spirits, but it didn't lessen the oppressive feeling of foreboding in the slightest.

Before long, Athara was sitting silently in her private shuttle, feeling the taint of the Death Star slowly ebb away from the reach of her senses. She was immensely relieved to be away from that horrible monstrosity. Yet, as she sat wrapped in her deep black cloak, Kenobi's battered lightsaber in hand, she couldn't shake the sense of apprehension. Whatever spawned the feeling was not going away simply because she no longer walked the durasteel corridors of the Death Star.

As the shuttle groaned and shuddered upon touching down in one of the _Devastator_ 's landing bays, Athara took her time disembarking. Just as she anticipated, as soon as the soles of her boots touched the landing bay floor, Athara was immediately accosted by one of the many secondary commanders aboard the Star Destroyer. Suppressing a frustrated and wearied sigh, Athara's long ingrained command instincts took over. Within moments officers were scurrying about seeing to her commands while she ordered the ship to be set in a low orbit around the planet Yavin on the opposite side of the planet from the moon Yavin IV, where the Rebel Base was hidden. Then, after taking up her position on the bridge, she waited.


	6. Chapter 5

It wasn't long before things started to happen. After arriving on the bridge, Athara had ordered all sensors to focus on the Rebel moon and, more importantly, the Death Star. So when dozens of small, one-man fighters were picked up leaving the atmosphere of Yavin IV, Athara knew the decisive moments were coming. The outcome of this fight would decide a great many things within the Empire and across the Galaxy.

At Athara's order, a number of technicians had set up a tactical display station that projected the Death Star's position in relation to the fourth moon and a projection of the time and distance remaining until the moon would be in range of the massive Battlestation. At another station, she had ordered several officers and technicians to scour the Death Star's schematics and read-outs in an almost desperate attempt to discern the Rebel's plans.

Athara did not shy away from battle. She never had. It had never caused her a moment of fearful hesitation. This battle was different. Anxiety plagued her as it never had before. The young Sith apprentice was hard-pressed to keep her normally well-disciplined feelings in check.

Barely able to keep her familiar, cool façade in place, Athara retreated from the projection, intending to check-in with the technicians on the far side of the bridge.

However, without meaning to do so, she found herself looking out into space, gazing absently at the swirling, undulating patterns that made up the planet Yavin's atmosphere. For the first time in what felt like days, her mind was filled with a stark emptiness that threatened to put her even more on edge.

On the other side of the planet, she could feel the battle begin, and some of her bridge crew had taken it upon themselves to relate the progress of the Death Star and the resistance against it. However, information was spotty. The atmospheric disturbances created by the gas planet they orbited interfered with the comm channels and sensor readings. Athara, though, was not so hindered.

She didn't know what it was, but in the last few days, her attunement to the Force and to everything around her was sharpened. Even now, as she watched the gaseous planet on the other side of the viewscreen, she could feel the battle, able to vaguely sense the movements of those clear across the system. She barely dared to speculate as to why. Perhaps it was her anxiety at the outcome of this battle or the fear of the fallout from her earlier loss of control that sharpened her perception to a staggering degree. Or, she thought, perhaps it was because of the depth of the rage and even grief and fear within her that Alderaan's destruction caused that increased the range and acuity of her senses. One thing she refused to attribute it to, despite the likelihood, was that the Destruction of Alderaan itself had fed her powers; strengthening and amplifying her abilities through the effect such a devastating event would have on the Dark Side.

One thing she did know for sure was that her eyes had yet to return to their natural dark blue-grey. She had realized that anew every time she had encountered a new face after stepping off her shuttle. The subconscious flinch of anyone who caught her yellowed gaze was unmistakable, and unique to the state of her eye colour. After all, her cowl was almost always up in the presence of others, to the point where very few even knew her features. It was only when her irises were the vivid, luminous yellow of full Dark Side immersion that her eyes seem to stand out from the shadow of her hood. It made those around her uneasy.

Beyond the planet, the Rebel fighters had engaged the Death Star and, after initially falling prey to the turbolaser towers that dotted the station's surface, were being picked off by the TIE-fighters that joined the fray. From what she gathered, both sides were suffering heavy losses, but the Rebels were effectively being slaughtered. They were simply no match for the sheer number of foes brought to bear against them.

Yet they were very obviously driven, and not just by a desperate bid to survive, though that was certainly a part of it. They had a plan; only Athara wasn't quite sure what it was. It wasn't until a trio of fighters broke off from the main fray that she began to clue into their strategy, especially when she sensed that her Master had joined the battle, trailing after the three Rebels.

Her mandatory study of the plans during construction had allowed her a fairly comprehensive understanding of the Battlestation. If she was correct, there were swaths of secondary system accesses, trenches and exhaust ports littering several quadrants of the Death Star's surface. It was possible that there was a weakness inherent in such an area—no one ever seemed to devote much attention to such tedious necessities beyond the basics of ensuring functionality. Turning briefly, she took little notice of the way the entire bridge seemed to pause at her movement. She fixed her gaze on the trembling technicians hovering around the schematics of the Death Star.

"Focus on the exhaust and waste systems on the peripheral polar quadrants on the Northern hemisphere," she said, her tone ensuring no argument despite its restrained volume. Without waiting for acknowledgement, she turned back to her initial position near the main viewport. Shortly after relaying her instruction, the three Rebels were gone, victims of Vader's exceptional aim. It also wasn't long after that one of the officers tentatively approached the Sith Apprentice.

"One of our technicians believes he has found a weakness in the shielding of the exhaust ports. There is one in particular that has minimal shielding that could lead to a catastrophic chain reaction if it was to be breached. It is in that quadrant where the Rebels seem to be focusing their efforts." Athara was silent for a moment, her voice more reserved than she anticipated when she finally spoke.

"So there is a danger."

"Yes, Milady. A very great one." Her response hadn't been a question, so the officer's reply had been unnecessary, but Athara barely noticed. In the midst of the battle, three more of the ever-thinning collection of Rebels had detached, making their way to what Athara now knew was a critical flaw in the Battlestation's design. As the information sank in, she realized she wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. True, she feared for her Master; should the Death Star be destroyed he would likely be caught in the blast wave. She also felt a surge of grief at the idea of so many more people losing their lives if the Rebels were to succeed. Sure, the Death Star was not filled to capacity thanks to its newness, but its maiden crew was still huge; quite likely larger than the current crew of the _Devastator_. She looked to the officer.

"Transmit your findings to the Death Star," she said quietly. Not waiting for the officer's response, she turned back to the viewscreen.

One by one, Vader picked off the attacking Rebels, but not before one of them reached their mark. Athara's breath hitched as a surge of excitement came from the Rebels, only to breathe an unconscious sigh of relief as the sensation was followed shortly by disappointment. That had been close. Behind her, her command crew also relaxed a bit as the threat ebbed for the moment.

By this point there were only a handful of Rebel fighters left. Desperation tinged their thoughts to a degree that was almost painful for the Sith apprentice to sense. They had only one more chance. Again, three fighters descended to the station, intent and focused. The officer relating the battle from the centre of the bridge was now giving a blow-by-blow account as best he could, muttering angrily when static disrupted the transmissions.

Athara had nearly stopped breathing as Vader and his wingmen caught up to the three Rebels. One Rebel took a hit and peeled off from the run, but her Master stayed on the tails of the remaining pair. Moments later, one of the remaining two fighters was blasted into oblivion, leaving one very lonely little ship at Vader's mercy. The remaining Rebel's grief at his comrade's death was quickly overshadowed though as he barrelled toward his target and her Master crept closer to his. There was something odd about this last pilot. Athara closed her eyes, focusing intently on the deadly chase relayed to her through the Force. The Death Star was finally in range of the moon.

The moment dragged on for what seemed like a lifetime.

A surge of raw, untrained power rippled through the Force, startling Athara as it flashed across her senses. It jolted her from her single-minded focus on the Rebel pilot long enough for her pick up on the ship that was suddenly barrelling toward the Death Star, homing in on the trio of TIE fighters that trailed the last Rebel ship.

But it was too late. A burst of surprise came from her Master as one of his flanking fighters exploded. Startled, the remaining TIE pilot panicked, loosing control of his fighter and clipping Vader's, sending the Sith Lord careening into space.

Athara barely had time to brace herself as the Rebel loosed his payload. Somehow she knew even before he fired that the torpedoes would reach their mark.

The bridge of the _Devastator_ was eerily silent as the Death Star began to power up to fire on the Rebel moon. In that lingering instant, Athara was the only one who knew what had started as the Rebels abandoned their attack, racing to clear the doomed station.

It was then that the Death Star exploded.

Once again Athara felt as though the air had been crushed from her lungs. This time though, she was better prepared to handle the barrage of thousands of deaths in that single, decisive instant. Behind her the Officer relating the events of the battle cried out in pain as the blast echoed through his headset, the static crackling loud enough that most of the crew on the bridge could hear it clearly. Athara struggled to regain her breath as her Command Crew was thrown into chaos as it became clear what had just happened.

After a brief moment she turned sharply, levelling a cutting glance at her officers. Silence descended upon the bridge again, thick with fear and disbelief. Athara herself was still stunned, but she managed to speak. Had it been any other time, she would not have been heard, but the bridge was so quiet that her soft tone carried easily.

"We hold our position." Not one of her officers quite knew what to do, or even how to respond.

Truth be told, neither did Athara.

Some of her Officers exchanged quick looks, but they soon returned to their positions, a dazed expression on most of their faces. At the very least, staying put would allow them to assess the situation without drawing undo attention to themselves. While she couldn't be sure, it was unlikely that the Rebels knew of the _Devastator_ 's location. But Vader did.

She couldn't be sure, especially with the disturbance that the Death Star's destruction had created, but she was fairly certain that her Master had survived the attack. She hadn't felt anything to the contrary, and she was sure that if he had been caught in the blast she would know. She would have felt it, wouldn't she?

Her own impatience getting the best of her, she tried to stretch out through the Force to find out for sure if he was even still alive. She felt strangely calm, despite the easily catastrophic event on the other side of Yavin and the uncertainty of her Master's survival. Even noticing her odd emotional detachment took some time, for it was several moments before she realized that she was experiencing no strong reaction of any kind to the situation; no fear, no concern, no anger, no grief, no happiness, no relief.

Nothing. She felt nothing.

It was horribly unsettling. She couldn't even bring herself to feel anxiety over Vader's lack of communication. Surely he should have made contact by now... she was having difficulty using the Force to reach out to her Master, a stark contrast to the ease with which she was touching the Force before the blast. Frowning, she lowered her gaze from the primary viewport in effort to increase her concentration.

As the durasteel flooring of the bridge came into focus, she caught a glance of movement out of the corner of her eye. Drawn to the movement, she was baffled to notice that the fluttering at the edge of her vision was her own hand, trembling within her robe. Her frown not leaving her features, she realized that she must be in shock. That was baffling in its own right. She held up her hand before her, watching the tremors with a blank expression that precisely matched how she was feeling at the moment. While certainly not a long serving veteran by any means, she was still an experienced leader, commander, agent and even an assassin. Surely it would take more that a single skirmish on the other side of the system to affect her this much. Wouldn't it?

Her attention was drawn from her musings by an anxious shout from one of the lieutenants that manned the Sensor Relays.

"My Lady, a ship approaching. A TIE-fighter, I'm sure of it." Her hand immediately disappearing behind her cloak, she was at the Lieutenant's side in an instant. Though still unable to sense the occupant specifically, her reason told her what she needed to know. She recognized the specs of the fighter the sensors had picked up.

"Inform the Fighter bays. Lord Vader approaches. Contact me as soon as he docks." Without waiting for a reply, she turned and strode from the bridge without another word.

She had passed through several corridors and a lift or two before she found herself completely alone in a secluded hallway. Knowing it was probably not the wisest of ideas, she nevertheless allowed herself to slump against the barren wall, letting out a single harsh breath as she leaned her head back against the cold durasteel. Feeling starved for air, she all but tore the hood from her head, closing her eyes as her breathing steadied. Taking a deep breath, and then another, she eventually calmed herself, suddenly finding the task difficult as the emotions that had previously deserted her tried to return in force. She had definitely been in shock. She let herself become encompassed in the Force, not bothering to care if it was Light or Dark. The calming presence through the Force returned, helping a little.

She was becoming frazzled, unbalanced. First Alderaan, then the Death Star... it was becoming too much. It didn't help, she realized as the first wave of panic arrived several minutes too late, that loosing touch with Vader through the Force, even for a moment, had caused an all encompassing fear to surge through her, paralyzing her senses. A new jolt of fear surged through her as she realized that fear had nearly cut her off from the Force. That made no sense whatsoever. She was a Sith Apprentice; she fed off fear, was strengthened by it. At least, she was supposed to.

Once again, her musing was interrupted as her Comlink beeped. Sighing, she leaned forward, reaching for the offending device. Listening as the officer on the other end filled her in on Vader's arrival, she absently acknowledged the alert before replacing the Comlink on her belt. As her hand withdrew from the depths of her robe, her hand brushed against the weight of the Jedi's lightsaber where it rested in her pocket.

Reminded of yet another incident that was tampering with her state of mind, she groaned, resting her aching head against her knees for a moment before pulling herself reluctantly to her feet.

It took her a moment to find her bearings, since she hadn't been paying that much attention earlier, but once she had, she easily began to make her way to the hangar she'd been told Vader had chosen. Having calmed herself enough to regain her focus, she was able to pinpoint her Master's Force signature with ease.

He was far from pleased.

He was also confused and agitated, she noted with confusion of her own. His thoughts were dwelling on something, but he was carefully guarding those thoughts from her. Pulling her hood back into place, she rejoined the flow of personnel that populated the _Devastator_.

Her timing turned out to be perfect, for as she stepped over the bulkhead into the Hangar bay, Vader was disembarking from his modified TIE fighter. Athara grimaced as she caught sight of the damage to the craft, but managed to wipe the expression from her face as her Master strode towards her, his pace distinctively slower that usual. The young Sith couldn't help but let loose a sigh of relief when she saw him approach.

"I must admit, I am glad you are safe, Master. I was—worried for your well being." That was putting it mildly. The Sith Lord paused for a moment when she hesitated, looking down at his apprentice in silence. When he didn't speak, Athara couldn't help but frown. Had she done something wrong? She pressed on, falling easily into step beside him.

"The _Devastator_ is awaiting your command, Master," she prompted, hoping for some sort of response, even if it was admonishment. Vader still didn't respond, only nodding stiffly. It was several more moments before she tried again. "Your orders?" His silence was making her uneasy. She was expecting rage, anger, even irritation. But she was getting nothing. Not a word, not a thought; no reaction whatsoever. This was becoming a pattern, and Athara didn't like it.

Soon, it became clear that Vader was heading toward his quarters. It was at that point that a particular idea struck her, and she snuck a quick glance at the read-outs on the regulators on his belt and chestplate. Several of the small lights were blinking rapidly, indicating his respirator was under some strain. The TIE fighter must have been more damaged than she thought. Though ashamed at not noticing sooner, the feeling was quickly swept aside with worry. Easily sensing her concern, Vader shot her a quick glance, silencing her before she even thought of speaking.

Moments later, they were within the confines of Vader's quarters. Athara kept her mouth shut as Vader sank laboriously into the chair within his Medical Unit. In the silence of the chamber, it was increasingly obvious that his suit was straining to recover from the demands Vader's flight to the _Devastator_ had produced. After pressing a few control mechanisms and initiating some of the main programs within the chamber, Athara was about to step out when Vader's voice halted her.

"Alert the Fleet. Inform them of the Location of the Rebel Base and—" he paused for a moment, though whether to think or to catch his breath Athara wasn't certain, "of the Destruction of the Death Star." Athara only stared at her Master when he finished. She still couldn't quite get a read on him. He simply stared back at her until she finally spoke.

"And what of the _Devastator_?" Like his apprentice, Vader took his time answering.

"Once the transmissions to the Fleet have been sent, and confirmation has been received, set a course for Coruscant." Athara frowned, though her breath hitched for a moment.

"Coruscant?" Her voice was little more than a whisper. Vader nodded slowly.

"Once I have made the necessary repairs to my suit, I will contact the Emperor. I am sure he is likely to request my presence to discuss the situation." It took all her will to keep from nervously clearing her throat.

"What of the Rebels? Surely they will evacuate the system as soon as possible. Should we not stay until the Fleet arrives?" Force, even alone their single Star Destroyer could do some serious damage to the base, possibly even destroy it without any assistance whatsoever. To leave the system after what had just happened made little sense to Athara. And that was without even allowing herself to dwell on why she feared returning to Coruscant. Vader was still for a moment, considering. Just what he was considering...

"It will take some time until I am ready to contact the Emperor. I need to meditate." Athara couldn't help but feel skeptical at the statement. Vader hated meditation. She felt a faint flicker of amusement from her Master as the thought crossed her mind. She was sure if he were capable he would've sighed. "Hold our position and monitor the situation on the fourth moon until I make contact with my Master." Nodding her understanding, Athara stepped out of the chamber, turning to look on as it sealed itself before heading once again to the Bridge.

Alerting the Fleet did not take long at all, especially since Athara was in no mood to draw out the process. In addition to the text transmissions she ordered sent to every ship in the Fleet, she also had the Fleet Commanders contacted simultaneously, telling all their holographic doubles the news at once.

To say they were shocked was an understatement. At least two of them began to shout in outrage, while another one had to sit down. The rest just stood there in stunned silence. Her patience quickly wearing thin, she silenced them all with a gesture, relaying Vader's orders before indicating to the Communications Officer to transmit the location of the Rebel Base. Once she had confirmation the transmissions were successful, she cut the connection, not bothering with closing pleasantries. She wasn't interested in platitudes at the moment, and considering the eagerness of the Fleet Commanders to receive Vader's orders, they weren't interested either.

Feeling there was little else to do with Vader's standing orders in effect, she left instructions on the Bridge to maintain their position and to keep her updated on any Rebel movements within the system before retreating back to her Master's quarters.

There she waited.

Vader hadn't been exaggerating when he said recuperating would take time. It was several hours before he emerged from his Medical Unit. Hearing the hiss of the hydraulics as the Unit opened, Athara stood, turning to face Vader as he came into view.

"The Fleet has been contacted?" he asked. Athara nodded.

"They are en route as we speak. Sensors have also picked up activity from the moon where the Rebel Base is located, but the Gas Giant is interfering with our sensors. We continue to hold our position, as I did not want to risk alerting the Rebels to our presence. However, I do not believe any ships have yet left the system." Vader nodded, standing.

"Good. How are our long-range communications?"

"There was no trouble contacting the Fleet. There should be no problems contacting the Emperor." Striding out of the confines of the Medical Unit and down the steps, Vader made his way to the Communication Pad in the chamber below. With a sharp gesture, he began to initiate the transmission to Coruscant as Athara came to stand beside him. As the transmission initialized, Vader turned to his apprentice, the strength of his gaze almost tangible to the young Sith.

"You will shield your presence, and stay out of sight." Athara reflexively swallowed as a slight shiver of fear coursed through her. Unable to respond properly, she merely nodded, stepping back to stand in one shadowed corner of the chamber. His gaze lingered on her for a moment in what could only be described as concern. Vader then stepped onto the Pad, kneeling as the transmission stabilized and activated.

In seconds the Emperor's hooded form appeared in front of Vader. The glowing figure of Palpatine was many times larger than life, and it stared down at Vader in disappointment and even disdain. It was several moments before either spoke.

"I have grave news, My Master," Vader finally intoned, sounding about as meek as his stature and his vocorder would allow.

"I am perfectly aware of that, Lord Vader." The Emperor sneered, displeasure clear on his twisted features. "You have failed me." Vader was about to reply when Palpatine raised his hand, silencing the Sith before him. Athara grimaced, double-checking that her mental shields were in place and her presence concealed.

"The destruction of the Death Star is intolerable; Grand Moff Tarkin has proven himself unworthy of the honour and responsibility I bestowed on him, and he has paid for it with his life. You, my apprentice, have failed me by another means." Athara grew cold at the words, and felt Vader tense as the Emperor spoke. "I desire that you and your pet apprentice come before me immediately. You have not been entirely honest with me, Lord Vader. Nor, I suspect, has she." His voice was too smooth, sending a chill down Athara's spine. Vader almost visibly struggled to find an appropriate response, but the Emperor did not seem to care what Vader had to say anyway.

"I sense she is far stronger than has been let on, and I wish to speak with you both." He smiled, the expression not at all comforting.

"The Rebels—"

"The Fleet will take care of the Rebels. I trust they are competent enough to do that. But you will depart immediately. I expect your arrival shortly." Vader's shoulders slumped ever so slightly, resignation obvious in his voice.

"Yes, My Master." 


	7. Chapter 6

The Emperor smiled smugly as the transmission ended, leaving Vader and Athara in tense silence. As soon as the glow of the hologram faded, Athara let loose an anxious breath, squeezing her eyes shut as fear threatened to flood her senses. She heard Vader stand slowly, his respirator the only remaining sound in the room. Lifting her gaze to her Master, she started at the sudden change in his demeanor. Gone was what she could have only described as resigned helplessness, replaced with anger and determination. For the first time she could remember, she felt a flash of fear as he took a step toward her. Lowering her gaze in shame, she could barely speak.

"I'm sorry, Master, I've failed you."

"Get off this ship." Her eyes shot up to meet the gaze of her Master, shock rendering her nearly speechless.

"But—but Master—" He reached forward, taking hold of her upper arm and steering her out to the main chamber of the suite.

"I want you off this ship immediately." He paused, turning to look at her. His respirator hitched, creating a sound reminiscent of a sigh. Resignation was once again visible in his body language. "I will not deliver you to the Emperor. I—I cannot. He means to break me, to punish me for crossing him by training you, of this I am certain, and he means to do it by way of your pain and your death." Athara felt herself go cold, nearly shivering as fear seeped through her. She had always known that the Emperor would likely want to destroy her should he discover her true potential, Vader had alluded to it before, but to hear her Master say it so bluntly made the threat all too real. Especially given the conversation she had just witnessed. This time she was speechless. Vader placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Go, my young apprentice. Take the Consular's Ship. Make sure you are not found." Struggling to keep her fears in check, she nodded. "Good. May the Force be with you, Athara." She looked up, surprised by the tenderness she sensed from him.

"And with you, Master." Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she pulled away, her mind suddenly whirling as she tried to plan her next move. Years of training meant that she was never without a course of action for long. Nevertheless, she was still deeply shaken, so keeping her thoughts straight was tougher than usual.

Having never had a chance to settle in upon arriving onboard the _Devastator_ , there was no need to pack. She needed only to collect her minimal belongings before making her way to the _Tantive IV_.

So far as the crew of the _Devastator_ was concerned, nothing had changed. Athara was still 'Milady' and her every order was to be obeyed. Everything felt surreal, though, knowing that she was now on the run, a fugitive, even though no one else knew it yet. So it was that she met with no resistance when she passed along orders to prepare the _Tantive IV_ for immediate departure. However, the unquestioning compliance did nothing to ease the dread growing in the pit of her stomach.

As soon as she set foot on the _Tantive IV_ , she was met by a pair of R3 Astrodroids and the Officer she had left in charge of preparing the ship.

"The ship is ready, as you requested, Milady." Nodding her assent she glanced over the droids quickly before sending them to prepare the ship for take off. The Officer beside her shuffled quietly, catching her attention. He hesitated for a split-second as she turned her gaze to him.

"You have something to say, Captain?" He cleared his throat nervously.

"My Lady, I can put together a crew at your pleasure. Droids alone cannot always—" Athara nearly smirked. She could tell he was trying to be helpful.

"Do you doubt my judgment, Captain?" she said mildly. The words seemed to catch in the man's throat. Athara had to restrain a chuckle, allowing a small smile to escape instead...then again, he likely wouldn't have seen it anyway, thanks to the shadow cast by her cowl. "Droids suit my purpose. Thank you, Captain. I will depart immediately." With a sharp salute, the Captain turned and exited the ship, leaving Athara alone.

A stab of panic shot through her for a split-second, but the young Sith hastily pushed it aside. She was better than this. She had been taught to think, to act, to react, and to survive. She had been well taught. Turning, she shut the main hatch before following the once pristine corridor to the Cockpit. Though she knew rationally that the _Tantive IV_ was a mid-size ship, in that moment, she felt huge.

The two droids she requested were already hard at work, plugged into different outlets and already starting up the main power and the Stardrives. Settling into the Pilot's seat, Athara called orders to the droids, engaging the sublight engines as the shields enclosing the main hangar bay were dropped.

Usually, a corvette like the _Tantive IV_ needed at least half a dozen people to crew it effectively. But, thus far, Athara was having no trouble piloting the ship with only two droids to assist her. It was slow though, especially with only one person and two droids. It took the sublight engines far longer than she liked to sufficiently clear the _Devastator_ and longer still for the navicomputer to calculate a jump to lightspeed. Corvettes were usually known for being fast. This one was, well, average. It was only two of several things she was going to have to have upgraded.

After checking and double-checking that all her systems were operational, Athara pulled back on the lever that propelled the ship into hyperspace. As the stars before her blurred into starlines, she leaned back in the pilot's chair. It was finally starting to sink in.

As the Dark Lady Obscura, Athara had pretty much been an Imperial agent her whole life. As soon as she had begun her training under Vader, she had been a part of the Empire, had based her goals upon those of her superiors, and followed orders...for the most part, at least. Now, she was on her own, alone, a free agent, as it were. The idea was vaguely terrifying. She had no purpose, no orders, save one; _make sure you are not found_. That wouldn't likely be too hard. Athara had a rather varied skill set, most of which was in high demand in the corrupt galaxy she lived in. She would blend in to the shadier parts of civilization easily enough. It didn't hurt either that next to no one knew what she truly looked like; her features had nearly always been covered by the wide cowl of her cloak.

Still, she really wasn't sure what to do without any sort of Imperial Mandate to guide her actions. The only thing she could think to do was to return to the only place she could remember being free of obligations to the Empire.

However, first thing's first, her ship needed a major overhaul. That required credits. Lots of credits. She sighed. It was one more thing that needed to be done.

She was amply reimbursed for her work with Vader, but her funds were all kept within Imperial Banking establishments. That was going to have to change. Thankfully, she did have some experience with more—illicit means of accessing Imperial networks, including those of the financial institutions. She wasn't a pro-slicer by any means, but so long as she hurried, once the ship dropped out of hyperspace, she would be able to withdraw a good portion from her personal accounts before she was discovered to be on the run. The closest system with direct access to the Imperial Network was the Chandrila system, which thankfully had a relatively small military presence. She was going to need to leave fast once someone realized what she was doing and where she was doing it from.

Rising from her seat, she left the Cockpit. There was nothing left for her to do there. Leaving the Droids to monitor the main systems for any hint of failure, she retreated to the scorched and blaster-marred corridors of the _Tantive IV_. Most of the damage to the ship was cosmetic, thankfully, but Athara was stuck as to what upgrades in particular she needed to do. CR90 Corvettes were good for just about anything depending on what upgrades the ship was given. The hyperdrive and sublight engines obviously would need to be upgraded, and weapons systems as well. Beyond that, Athara wasn't sure. Perhaps she would leave it mostly intact. Perhaps swap out some of the diplomat quarters and lounges for some cargo bays. She wasn't likely going to be dealing with too many passengers.... or too many people in general. She was supposed to lie low, after all.

Finding one of the many Passenger and Crew berths, she eagerly stripped off her cloak and tunic so she was left in only her black breeches and shirt. Replacing her belt, she absently tossed the bundle of black fabric onto the bed. It didn't quite make it far enough, and as she turned to enter the 'fresher, it slid off the side of the mattress, landing with a resounding thunk on the floor. Turning, she looked back at the little pile, remembering the item stashed in the pocket.

Kneeling beside the bed, she pulled the Jedi's lightsaber from her discarded tunic. Letting out a deep sigh, she settled on the cool floor, staring into space as the weapon turned over and over in her hands. It had a comforting weight to it. The Jedi was a mystery, one that was gnawing at her. The lightsaber stilled. Dropping her gaze she held it up, activating the blade. The room was instantly filled with a familiar hum as the brilliant blue blade sprang to life. Perhaps while she was gathering her credits she should see about finding anything about Kenobi on the Imperial Database. Deactivating the Lightsaber, she placed it onto one of the bedside cabinets before exiting the chamber.

After wandering about some more, she managed to find the common area. After some minor rearranging, she placed herself in the centre of the wide space she cleared. Pulling out her own lightsaber, she cleared her mind, settling into her stance to begin some basic exercises. Her ruby blade ignited, filling the room with an almost menacing glow.

Slowly she began to cycle through her exercises, her speed and intensity growing with each lunge and parry. Before long, the blade was dancing in complex movements around her, creating an intense display of deadly but beautiful light.

It was a means to let off the frustration and anger that had been simmering since she first climbed aboard the Death Star. With each step and turn, she could feel her mind clear of turmoil. This was something Vader had never been able to do anything about. Athara found she was calmer, more at peace when she lost herself in her exercises. She could draw from the Dark Side to bolster her strength, but she didn't do so unless absolutely necessary. That, apparently, wasn't done if you were to be a Sith. Frankly, she didn't care. It felt good—better even than the addictive rush of full Dark Side immersion. Most of the time, at least. This time, though still soothing to her frayed nerves, Athara was not finding the practice quite so cathartic as usual. There was simply too much on her mind and too much still to do.

Eventually, her muscles couldn't take much more. Winding down, she let the saber still, coming to rest loosely in front of her. The gentle hum of the blade was the only other sound in the quiet room besides her heavy breathing. She hadn't put quite so much into her exercises in a long time. Still, as a familiar ache began to seep into her limbs, her mind felt clearer than it had been in days.

It wasn't long until she was sitting back in the cockpit, feeling refreshed and rested after a quick bout in the 'fresher and a change into a new jumpsuit and a long, deep-hooded jacket to replace her tunic and cloak. Not a moment too soon, either. Soon after she took her seat, the warning from the navicomputer sounded, alerting the Sith apprentice that they were coming up on Chandrila. Taking a deep breath, she reviewed the ship's systems before relaying orders to her two Astro Droids.

"R3-L4, I want you to take control of the ship when we drop out of hyperspace. Keep us going, but slowly. I want to be able to make a quick away once we're finished here. Have the next hyperspace jump ready. R3-N3, I need you to connect to the Imperial Network remotely. Get me access to the Banking network. I can take it from there. Then I want you to pull everything you can from the Imperial Databases and Holonet archives about a Jedi named Obi-Wan Kenobi, going back from the present to before the Clone Wars. Pull everything you can find; I want to know who he is." The last bit she said mostly to herself as the two droids whistled and chirped merrily, indicating they understood her orders. Beside her, the hyperdrive indicator began to flash.

"Prepare to drop out of hyperspace." Easing back on the control, The _Tantive IV_ shuddered as they returned to real-space. Sounding far happier than they should, Athara's new droid companions immediately went to work, carrying out their orders amid a chorus of more beeps and whistles as Athara switched consoles, settling down to complete her current 'mission'. Within moments, N3 had connected her to the Banking network, something Athara took full advantage of. Within seconds she had initiated a transfer of credits onto a datachip she had at the ready.

Things were going remarkably well, but Athara knew very well it wouldn't last. The simple fact that she was transferring so many credits at once would be enough to raise flags, but compiled with an unauthorized and even illegal connection... alarm bells had to be going off somewhere.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than N3 began to whistle and squeal from the other side of the cockpit. Their time was up. Severing the connection, Athara was back in the pilot's seat in an instant, firing up the main engines as she finished angling the ship toward the nearest hyperspace lanes. Behind her, L4 whirred anxiously as the hyperdrive powered up. Another moment and they had made the jump.

As starlines once again appeared outside the cockpit, Athara leaned back with a sigh. That had gone smoothly. The two astro droids with her were exchanging relieved sentiments of their own, drawing a small smile from the young Sith. There wasn't much time to rest on their laurels, though. At anytime now, her flight would come to the attention of the Emperor, and a call for her arrest or capture would likely be sent out. Before anything else, she needed to deal with her ship. The _Tantive IV_ was a little conspicuous; the galaxy either thought it was destroyed or in the hands of Vader...neither assumption particularly helpful for its current owner.

Hence their current course. There were several potential destinations where she could commission the upgrades to the _Tantive IV_. She had briefly considered Nar Shadda, as well as Duro and Sullust, before settling on Corellia. As a relatively neutral planet, there was a good chance Athara could keep under the radar simply because most Corellians didn't really want to get involved. Besides, _Tantive IV_ was a Corellian-made ship; if she could get it overhauled anywhere, Corellia would be as good a place as any. The shipyards were huge and, as just about every imaginable illicit ship-related activity was participated in by Corellians, finding someone to refit the _Tantive IV_ shouldn't be too hard.

By the time they reached Corellia, Athara was once again feeling antsy. She had been tempted to pass the time looking over the information N3 had pulled on the Jedi Kenobi, especially since he managed to find more than she had anticipated. The most she had hoped for were maybe a few old Holonet stories from the Clone Wars and some anti-Republic/anti-Jedi propaganda, but from what little she had looked at so far, the information seemed more comprehensive than that. However, she couldn't manage to calm her mind enough to focus, eventually deciding to review the material during her ship's upgrade.

As a rather shadowy agent of the Empire with the variety of orders she had been given over the years, Athara had been forced to learn more subtle and less mainstream ways of obtaining her prerogatives. Thanks to the lessons she had learned ages ago, she had a vague idea of the most appropriate places to get her ship retrofitted.

Immediately heading to the seedier districts, she proceeded unmolested to one of the larger landing bays. During the hyperspace jump, she and L4 had managed to reset some of the _Tantive IV_ 's transponder systems and identification modules so that they could bypass any Planetary Security Stations or, if challenged, could theoretically pass through unrecognized and, more importantly, undetected.

It proved to be a wise move, for as she approached the planet, she was challenged not once, but twice. Thankfully, she had done this before, and L4 was surprisingly adept at reprogramming the ship's ID transponder. Faking the ship's identity was tricky, but the Planetary Defense Network and the spaceport Authority accepted the _Tantive IV_ 's fake information. Before too long Athara was wandering about the planet's surface. The first thing she decided was that she needed a drink.

The first three cantinas she passed by, but the fourth caught her interest. There was nothing special about it; it was of an average size and obviously catered to the usual clientele that frequented the area. But she had a feeling about it and, good or bad, that feeling made her curious. Usually she only really paid attention to her bad feelings, but this one had her intrigued.

Once inside, she settled at the bar and discretely surveyed the other patrons. Once again relying on her feelings, she waited. Eventually she lost track of the time she spent sitting in the dim cantina, but there was little choice at the moment. She needed to lay low, and she was generally overly cautious in situations like this. Thankfully, her immersion in the Dark Side was an asset in a place like this. It gave her an aura that even hardened low-lifes tended to shy away from; it was easy to sense that she was dangerous when one actually paid attention to her. Still, she managed to remain as unthreatening as possible in case anyone was searching for a confrontation. Yet again, the Force was an indispensible ally as she used it to keep herself from becoming too interesting to the other patrons. Plus it allowed her to blend into the background and remain largely unnoticed. She was good at being little more than a shadow, after all.

So she waited, listening to the happenings around her to try and get a bearing on the current state of affairs. She didn't really learn all that much. The destruction of the Death Star, it seemed, was being kept quiet, as there were only hushed murmurs here and there. The prevailing thought was that the Rebellion was responsible, which Athara knew was true, but there had been no confirmation by anyone. There was considerably more talk about the destruction of Alderaan, and a great deal of nervousness accompanied the topic. She had been right in thinking that Tarkin's move to destroy the peaceful planet would be anything but beneficial to the Empire; if the angry reactions to Alderaan's destruction on Corellia were anything to go by, she hated to think how the rest of the Galaxy was reacting...especially the Core worlds. The general consensus seemed to be that the Death Star blowing up could only be a good thing in the long run, but any time the thought was spoken aloud, it was responded to with hisses, wary glances and silence. Average Corellians may have little love for the Rebellion and even less for the Empire, but that didn't mean they broadcasted it.

Eventually a Gran came to sit near her, taking a deep swig of his ale the moment the barkeep set it before him. He was obviously wary, his three eyes surreptitiously scanning the cantina in the same way Athara had earlier. She had a good feeling about this particular bar patron. She continued to watch him, though rather more openly than before. After a few moments he noticed, and after a few more started to look annoyed.

"Got a problem?" he finally growled in her direction.

"Actually yes. And perhaps you can help me with it." The annoyed expression didn't leave his face, but Athara could sense his hesitation and even a trace of curiosity at her response as he gave her a probing once over. She didn't continue right away, leaving the choice to accept her bid for conversation up to him. Eventually, after weighing any possible threats, he spoke.

"Looking for someone?" She held back a grin when he finally spoke, though her hood would've easily hid the expression.

"In a manner of speaking," he nodded slowly, indicating he was interested enough for her to continue. "I have a ship in need of some—repair. " He easily caught her meaning, though it hadn't really been that veiled. He thought for a moment, considering her.

"What kind of ship?"

"Corellian; blockade runner." Another moment passed. The Gran rubbed his chin, his three eyes fixed on her, trying to discern something beneath her hood. It was obvious that he had someone in mind already. He was almost as wary as she was. Finally, after draining his glass, he spoke.

"I think I might know of someone; A Duro, name of Geeno Madal. He runs a fairly big private operation, takes care of a whole lot of different jobs." Athara frowned.

"Discrete?" The Gran chuckled, as though her question was amusing.

"'Course. He'd have very little business otherwise." Athara pulled a couple credits from beneath her robe, setting them on the bar beside the Gran's drink.

"Thank you, my friend." She caught the bartender's eye, gesturing for a refill of the Gran's drink. "Have another on me." A fresh glass in his hand, he held it up to her.

"Bek Reem, at your service."

"I will remember. My thanks." Without another word she turned and left the cantina. She had a Duro to find.

As it turned out, Geeno Madal was not all that difficult to track down, especially when one had two very reliable R3 units and a great deal of experience finding all manner of beings. He had a small storefront for his business not terribly far from the Cantina where she encountered the Gran. His private shipyard was in orbit. He did not run a small operation.

The instant she entered the sparsely furnished store, she drew the attention of those inside. On the far side of the room, next to a series of desks and consoles, were two Duros, with a third on the other end of the store speaking quietly to a pair of Aqualish. One of the pair of Duro stepped forward, coming around the counter to stand before the young Sith.

"Do you have business with Master Madal?" Athara nodded.

"I mean to. I have a ship in need of repair." The Duro nodded, excusing himself before disappearing into a back quarter of the store. After a few moments, he returned with another, older Duro who sized Athara up the instant he caught sight of her.

"I am Geeno Madal. I was told you seek to do business with me." Though he spoke basic like the Duro who had greeted her, Madal had a heavier Durese accent. Athara was all right with that. She could understand Durese well enough, but it wasn't her best language.

"I do." Gesturing toward the doorway he just appeared from, he led her to a smaller office behind the main storefront. It was a simple but sparsely decorated room, small, with all the affects needed for business and little else. As soon as the door closed behind her and Madal had taken a seat behind his desk, Athara spoke.

"I have a CR90 Corvette in need of some repair and – refitting. More importantly, I seek discretion." The Duro looked at her critically for a moment, his large red eyes trying to peer beneath her hood as Bek Reem had. The silence stretched on before Madal leaned back in his chair, clasping his long-fingered hands before him.

"You have credits?" Athara grinned.

"I have enough."

"What manner of repairs do you need done?" She could tell from his voice alone that he had some idea of her situation. It was not an uncommon situation to be in.

"Upgrades mostly. hyperdrive and sublight engines, sensors, shields, weapons, repairing some of the other major systems, retrofitting for cargo from passenger, retrofitting for a smaller crew, paint job," she hesitated for a moment, taking stock of him thus far before continuing, "complete computer system overhaul, including a memory wipe, and it needs to be renamed." To his credit, the Duro didn't bat an eye. He merely absorbed the information, processing it and considering options.

"You'd almost be better off to buy a new ship...a commission like that will not come cheap. Especially if you wish to keep this—arrangement discrete."

"I am aware of that. Interested?" She could easily sense that he was. This Duro liked a challenge, and some of the repairs she suggested could be interesting to accomplish without drawing undue attention. Besides, he was curious.

"I may be. Might I see your ship? I shall need to take a look to ascertain just what needs to be done to see what I can do." After a moment of thought Athara nodded in agreement. Of course there was some risk in inviting him onboard, but nothing she wouldn't be able to handle.

"Of course."

Not long afterward, the young Sith and the Duro were onboard the _Tantive IV_ , surveying the damage to the ship and discussing the upgrades Athara wished to have done. After a long inspection of the main reactor, Madal turned to his potential client, a shrewd expression on his face. Athara had noticed the look building as they had toured the ship.

"If I might be permitted to ask," he started slowly, cautious of her reaction, "how did you come by such an—interesting ship?" He continued when she didn't answer.

"I couldn't help but notice a certain Alderaanian flavour to the décor..." Athara turned to face him, levelling him with a stare that he could feel rather than see.

"Oh? Is that so." He stayed silent, watching her warily. "Well, where do you think this ship is from?" He stood a little straighter, a certain boldness visible in his posture. It still took a moment before he gained the conviction to speak, weighing the risks of the gamble he was obviously considering.

"If I didn't know any better, I would say this ship is one and the same with a certain consular ship that was supposed to have been destroyed. However," she couldn't help but smile when he carefully continued, "it is a good thing I know better."

"That it is." She took a step toward him, impressed when he stood his ground. Not many could do that when she approached in such a manner; her presence was too forbidding for that, especially when she deliberately amped it up for emphasis. "We have an understanding, Master Madal? I would hate to have to quell any rumours circulated about my ship." Though her voice was light and casual, the threat was still evident. The Duro nodded slowly, caution warring with an eagerness that was becoming obvious. This was indeed going to be a fun challenge for him.

The Duro held out his hand. Athara took it, sealing the deal.

"We do indeed."

When the Gran, Bek Reem, said Geeno Madal was successful for a reason, he was certainly right. Athara was hard pressed to find anything wrong with his work. He was quick, efficient and, above all, discrete. She was fairly certain he had a less than spotless past, which would certainly explain his adeptness at acquiring parts and materials that would've otherwise raised questions Athara wished to avoid. It did result in a slightly inflated cost, but Athara wasn't terribly concerned. She would have enough, though it would nearly deplete her remaining funds.

It did not take nearly the time she had expected for the _Tantive IV_ to be essentially reinvented into the _Amaran_ _Flame_. She was especially pleased with what she was able to salvage from the former Alderaanian Ship. Surprisingly, Madal was quite agreeable when she insisted that the furnishings and other Alderaanian vestiges be kept despite being replaced. She had also taken the liberty of downloading the memory systems of the ship before Madal's crew completely wiped the system. After that had been taken care of, work progressed quickly. The engines and all other major systems were repaired or upgraded, while the ship was further outfitted with several new weapons systems, many of questionable legality. Athara wasn't concerned though. She was underground anyway.

In the meantime, she did all the reading she could on Obi-Wan Kenobi. There was a lot to go through as N3 had been incredibly proficient at digging up old files given the limited time and makeshift connection. She certainly learned a lot.

He had been a hero of the Clone Wars, 'The Negotiator' as he was often referred, and there was file upon file of his missions and battles. Beyond that, though, she was able to learn very little. Obviously, most of the Jedi Order's Records were either destroyed or under the tight control of the Imperial Information Restriction and Censor Committee, so there was almost nothing of his own, personal history. What she did learn was that he was influential in several important events in Galactic history, from the Trade Federation Blockade of the planet Naboo, which coincided with Palpatine's election to Supreme Chancellor, to the death of General Grievous, which was a decisive moment in ending the Clone Wars. After that the records went dark. There was no mention of him in the Purges, not that there were ever many names mentioned there anyway, and nothing about him in the literature condemning the Jedi after the formation of the Empire.

Even after devouring everything N3 had dug up, Athara found she still knew virtually nothing of the Jedi whose lightsaber she was now caretaker to.

And it frustrated her to no end.


	8. Chapter 7

"I may have a job for you, if you are willing." Athara looked over to Madal, frowning beneath her deep hood. That wasn't exactly what she had envisioned when he said he wished to speak with her.

"A job," she repeated, not bothering to hide the skepticism from her voice. The Duro nodded.

"I've heard you've turned to smuggling with a hint of piracy on the side." Athara's frown deepened.

"Oh?" The Duro shot her an exasperated look. He wasn't wrong. Since work on the _Amaran_ _Flame_ (formerly the _Tantive IV_ ) had been completed several months previous, she had gone freelance, doing smuggling runs, some small-time piracy and even pursued the odd bounty. She was proving quite successful at it too. "You've been gossiping with Reem again, haven't you," she teased lightly. If Duros could flush, she'd have been willing to bet he would have.

"He mentioned that you have taken the odd shipment of his and a few others. And I've heard rumour that it was your ship that hit two of Black Sun's Shipping Transports." Athara let out a rather unladylike snort. Madal shook his head. "Do you want the job or not?"

"Depends on the job...and the politics involved." This time it was the Duro who made a derisive sound.

"Smugglers don't get into politics. I was under the impression that you didn't care about such things."

"Impartiality is something I haven't quite fully embraced." She turned to face the Duro, who had settled himself quite comfortably in a shadowy booth she occupied at the back of the Cantina. "Who's the job for?"

"It is simple; quite easy actually. It's just running supplies."

"That didn't answer my question." Madal sighed, eyeing her warily. Athara almost laughed. "You haven't looked at me like that since I commissioned you to fix my ship. What is this all about?" She stared right back at him, mind whirring. After a moment, he spoke again, his hushed words coming close to confirming a suspicion taking shape in her mind.

"Where do you stand on the Empire?" Athara cocked her head, considering both him and his question.

Since she had been forced to flee her Master's ship, she had severed ties with the Empire. There was a great deal she did not approve of within the Empire itself, and she certainly didn't like the Emperor. That was nothing new, though. She had never really been a supporter of the Sith Master, even when she had still been in some semblance of favour. Yet she harboured no particular sympathy for the Rebellion either. She had essentially become apolitical, something Madal had been somewhat right about. However, for all intents and purposes, she refused jobs for the Empire, though that was as much about avoiding Imperial notice as anything else. As he watched her think, though, she mused that, if it came down to it, she'd rather help the Rebellion than the Empire.

The instant the thought crossed her mind she frowned. A mere year earlier, she never would've considered choosing the Rebel Alliance over the Empire. She had changed since the Death Star's destruction. She had come to realize just what the Empire meant to a huge portion of the Galaxy. She'd had faint notions before of the depravity and corruption, but it had never really made an impact on her. In some ways, she had been far more sheltered that she could have ever guessed. She took a deep breath.

"Nowhere in particular. But I can't say I'm overly fond of it either." Her answer had been a gamble, though one where she was been fairly confident of the outcome. She could sense the relief that coursed through the Duro even though it made no appearance in his expression.

"You will have to work with Bek." This time Athara was surprised.

"Reem? He's involved with...them?" The Duro nodded.

"Regularly. Supplies mostly, food and medical equipment. Though, I understand he has also done an arms shipment or two."

"Really. I never would've guessed." Madal leaned forward, a harsh look suddenly on his face.

"And it will stay that way." Athara raised her eyebrows as amusement washed through her. Madal, threaten her? He had certainly known her long enough to know she was dangerous, just as she knew he could be when crossed. He was a friend, yes; he had even given her her first job beyond the Empire, though it was only a cargo run then. He had even offered her a storage unit at his shipyard for a discounted price to store the items she had wished to keep from the _Tantive IV_. Since then he had been her contact on many other jobs. Surely he knew better than to think she'd betray his confidence on this, or to threaten her, for that matter.

"You have nothing to fear on that score, Madal." The Duro grunted, sitting back again. Athara fought back a chuckle. "Where?" In response, he slid her a datachip. After that, the conversation was over.

The next morning she was ready to leave the instant Bek stepped foot on The _Flame_. As usual, she could sense him easily as he approached the cockpit, firing up the sublight engines before she had even seen him.

"Are you ever taken by surprise?" She turned as the Gran spoke, grinning a little.

"'Course not. Come on, we're ready for take-off." She gestured to the Co-pilot's seat, moving her cloak from where she'd set it earlier so he could sit, before focusing once again on the console in front of her. "Main reactor is online. N3, watch those converters, they've been acting up again." Behind her, the little droid whirred an affirmative before beginning a conversation with L4. The young Sith took the ship up, leaving the landing bay behind before turning back to Reem.

"So, where are we going?" Across the cockpit, the Gran was programming the navicomputer, plotting a hyperdrive course.

"Ansion. We are picking up a shipment of foodstuffs." Athara looked at him critically for a moment, something he didn't fail to notice. "You have something to say?"

"Why aren't you doing this alone? Why do you need me? Your ship is smaller, less conspicuous than mine and can carry just as much cargo." The Gran looked sheepish. Athara sent him a questioning glance, barely managing to keep her face clear of the amusement she felt. It was bound to be a good story considering how embarrassed he looked.

"One of my technicians was changing the engine fluid while seeing to some maintenance on one of the starboard engine hubs. I, uh, tried to fire up the reactor before he was done," Athara struggled to suppress her laughter, "I still don't think he's cleaned up all the oil, or gotten it all off himself either."

"Well done." The Gran shot her a withering look, but she couldn't quite help herself, "Who was it?"

"Might we change the subject?" he grumbled by way of and answer. Athara laughed as L4 whistled behind her, indicating they had reached the appropriate vectors for the jump to lightspeed. Double-checking the calculations and some of the major systems, as was her habit, Athara pulled the lever, and beneath them the ship leapt into hyperspace.

Once she was satisfied they were adequately on the way, Athara spun to face her temporary partner.

"Are you going to fill me in on how this is all going to work?" Reem nodded, standing.

"Drink first." Athara withheld an exasperated sigh before following the Gran to the common area of the ship. The Gran had only one destructive vice—besides smuggling and piracy, of course...and helping the Rebellion apparently—and that was his dependence on alcohol. Smuggler's prerogative, Pirate's duty, he'd always joke. No matter her pushing or cajoling, he abjectly refused to lighten up on his considerable intake, and though she still tried, she no longer refused to have a small supply aboard the _Flame_. By the time she caught up to him, he was already settling into one of the chairs around the perimeter of the room. Sitting in one of the seats near his, she leaned back, stretching her legs out in front of her as he sipped away at the Rodian Whiskey she stocked. After a few moments of companionable silence he turned to face Athara, fixing his three eyes on her.

"Madal told you who we're running supplies for?" Athara steadily met his gaze, fixing a smooth expression on her face.

"Indirectly, but yes." The Gran nodded, taking another drink.

"We're the middle man. We pick up the food, deliver it to a small party of Rebels and leave the rest to them. Nothing more." Athara nodded.

"Fair enough. So we pick up the cargo on Ansion...then where to?" The Gran hesitated for a moment. She didn't need the Force to tell her it wasn't due to a lack of trust, but that he simply wasn't used to sharing this type of information. It was a weird feeling to realize he trusted her.

"Dantooine."

"Dantooine?" She couldn't help but be a little skeptical, something that Bek didn't miss. She knew there was once a base there, Princess Leia had tried to use it to save Alderaan, but it had long been abandoned. Sensing suspicion growing in her friend, she covered quickly, keeping her expression carefully neutral and unassuming. "There isn't much there." The Gran watched her for another moment before looking back to his glass.

"That's the idea." She nodded in concession, still watching him as Reem stood to refill his glass. "Apparently, we're meeting them not far from their former base; they will transmit precise coordinates when we arrive."

"Any idea who we're meeting?" He sat back down again.

"Never quite sure until I get there; they like to keep things to themselves."

"Understandable, I suppose."

"I think, though, that this time it's going to be supervised by one of their X-Wing Squadron pilots, either Antilles or Skywalker." Athara frowned, though this time Reem wasn't paying attention.

"Those names sound familiar," she mused out loud. Bek snorted.

"They should. They are both making a name for themselves against the Empire. Antilles is Corellian, and while no one is entirely sure where Skywalker's from, there's some talk that he's from Tatooine. He just showed up one day, out of the blue, along with Princess Organa and Han Solo. Though no one has confirmed it officially, word is Skywalker's the one who blew up the Death Star. He's becoming a bit of a legend." Athara was hard pressed to keep her face free of the curiosity that was suddenly eating her up from the inside. Antilles likely sounded familiar since the last Captain of the _Tantive IV_ was an Antilles, though she suspected there was no relation as one was from Corellia and the other from Alderaan. Skywalker sounded familiar for a whole different reason.

"Skywalker, I know that name from somewhere. Wasn't there a famous Jedi named Skywalker during the Clone Wars?" She forced her voice to sound casual, but then, no one spoke casually about the Jedi in this day and age. Reem fixed her with a stern but questioning look.

"Aren't you a little young to know anything like that?" She kept her gaze fixed mildly on the Gran. He sighed, but continued. "You are right though, come to think of it. I think there was a Jedi hero during the Clone Wars named Skywalker. I remember watching broadcasts about the Wars when I was younger. Gimme a second to think...Yeah, 'The Hero with no Fear' I think they called him. Yeah. That's it." As soon as he said it, she remembered where she had first seen the name; Anakin Skywalker was the Padawan of the Jedi Kenobi. She remembered reading about the two of them. "Who knows, maybe they are related. It's an unusual enough name; cousins, maybe." Reem chuckled sardonically, taking a swig of his whiskey.

Athara was deep in thought, mulling over what Bek had said. If he was right, and this Skywalker was responsible for the destruction of the Empire's Battlestation, that meant he was Force sensitive. She briefly mused that they might be one and the same, the Jedi and the Pilot, yet a Jedi Hero from the Clone Wars would most certainly know enough to mask his Force signature. Plus, he had first appeared in the Princess's company, which could mean that he was possibly among those to have broken the Princess out of the Death Star's detention block. That would also mean that he came with Kenobi.

She remembered almost every detail of the day the Death Star was destroyed clearly, especially the burst of untrained Force-potential from the pilot who had fired the fateful shot. She was sure that was the source of Vader's confusion after the battle upon his arrival on the _Devastator_. But would a Clone War Jedi Veteran give off such an unfocused and untrained Force signature? That implied someone young and untrained, so it was more likely that he was a younger relative, rather than the Jedi himself. Regardless, whoever this Skywalker was, and whomever he might be related to, he was certainly a person of interest.

Their time on Ansion was productive but short. Bek took care of everything, directing Athara as needed and doing all the talking. They arrived at the depot, picked up their cargo and were off again in almost no time at all. Bek obviously had this down to a science, and wasn't even off-balance because of the change in ship.

The second hyperspace jump was far quieter than the first, with Bek retreating to one of the handful of Crew Quarters that Athara had kept during the remodel. She was left alone to her thoughts, and retreated to her own quarters to meditate. It was not quite so easy as usual, as the curiosity Bek had sparked wasn't giving her a moment's peace.

Eventually, they came up on Dantooine, dropping out of hyperspace a fair way from the planet to give the Rebels meeting them ample warning. After several minutes, they picked up an encoded radio transmission. Settling himself down at the comm station, Bek input the code he had ready to decipher the signal. Athara didn't pay all that much attention to the exchange that followed as Reem exchanged passwords and coded phrases with the Rebels already on the planet. She was too busy scanning the planet with the Force, striving to maintain a balance between shielding her presence and reaching out far enough to sense who might be waiting for them. She was pulled back to the _Flame_ when Reem settled himself back into the Co-pilot's chair and relayed the co-ordinates to her.

Changing her vector, Athara guided the ship down to the Planet's surface. Behind her N3 and L4 both chortled reassuringly as they always did when all systems were functioning properly, keeping her apprised in case anything went wrong. Thankfully, there were no such problems this time as the _Flame_ came up to rendezvous point.

Ahead of them was a cargo ship slightly smaller than the _Flame_ , with several small figures standing before it waiting for their visitors to land.

With a shudder and a mild jolt, the _Flame_ settled on the plain with ease several hundred feet from the Rebel's ship. Leaving the droids to keep an eye on the ship's systems, Athara followed Bek to the primary hatch, releasing the locking mechanism and lowering the ramp. Bek was the first to disembark, striding toward the small group of Rebels without hesitation. Athara was a little slower to follow, reaching out with her senses to take stock of the Rebels. She struggled to suppress a sly grin as she was met with the Force signature of an untrained Force-user among the small group making their way over to her ship.

"Gentlemen, this is my associate, Captain Tamara," Athara bowed her head in greeting as Bek gave the Rebels the alias she had given him nearly a year previous. There were only a handful of people in the Galaxy who knew her by her real name and not just Obscura, but she hadn't been about to take any risks, especially as she had taken to regularly going without a hood to hide her face as she was today. The Gran turned back to Athara, gesturing to the Rebels behind him.

"This is Malden, Greer and Skywalker." With a brisk nod, Bek motioned for the Rebels to follow him to the cargo bay so they could begin transferring the supplies from the _Flame_ to their own ship. Athara took up the rear, silently surveying the group. Malden and Greer were typical Rebels, full of conviction and fire against the injustice of the Empire, but they were also jaded by years of Civil War.

Skywalker was far more interesting. He was indeed the one with Force-potential, and was most certainly the one who blew up the Death Star; she would recognize his Force-signature anywhere. He was like-minded to the other Rebels, however he was not so jaded, but rather far more innocent, naïve even. Making sure her own Force-signature was well guarded and her face a smooth mask was tricky, as she could barely contain her interest.

The only Force-users she knew of for sure were Vader and the Emperor. She suspected she knew who some of the Emperor's Hands were, but they were quite good at hiding their own Force signatures. Meeting another Force-user was a novelty to the young Sith. She needed to speak with him.

The two other Rebels and Bek were already well into unloading the cargo from the rear bay of the _Flame_ when Athara caught up. She was still trying to come up with a means to inconspicuously strike up a conversation with the youngest of the Rebels when he beat her to the punch.

"I take it you're new to this?" She turned to the sandy-haired youth from the stack of crates she was beside, not bothering to hide the questioning look that appeared on her face. He hesitated for an instant, adding sheepishly, "to doing this, with the Rebellion, I mean." She could've almost laughed at the earnestness of his face, but turned her gaze back to the crates she needed to get out of the bay. Silently, she wished she was free to use the Force to move the cargo; it would've been so much faster.

"In a way. You're fairly new yourself, aren't you?" A serious look came over his face, his brow furrowing into a frown. She deftly hid her smile.

"Not that new. I've done quite a lot for the Rebellion in the last year."

"Like supervising supply drops?" He looked almost petulant at her teasing tone.

"No. I'm a pilot. Pretty good one too, if I do say so myself."

"Ah, a pilot. How distinguished." He caught onto her sarcasm, but missed the playful teasing.

"You don't believe me?" Athara looked up from the case she was loading onto the repulsorlift. He had very blue eyes, she noticed with a start.

"I haven't seen you fly, but I suppose I can believe you."

"You should, this is the kid who blew up the Death Star. He's one of the best we got," Greer piped up as he passed the two of them, guiding a repulsorlift of his own out of the Cargo Hold. Athara, though she already knew this, feigned a look of impressed astonishment, causing the young Rebel to glow with pride, standing a little straighter.

"Hmm. Well, that certainly is impressive." She turned back to the crates she was loading, picking one up before dumping it Skywalker's arms, startling him for a moment. She chuckled as she went to grab another box. "How does one manage to do a thing such as that?" Luke was about to speak, but hesitated for a moment, a sudden wariness coming over his face. Athara sensed this and turned back to him, watching as he soberly placed the crate on the repulsorlift. He wasn't very good at shielding his thoughts or feelings. He had almost no training whatsoever, she realized suddenly, but he had an introduction. Someone had started to train him. Could it have been Kenobi? She leaned against the stack of crates beside her as he continued to move crates and boxes. Like she had been musing earlier, Kenobi had been part of the group that had rescued the Princess, and Bek had distinctly told her this Rebel had first shown up with the Princess. It was still a logical conclusion to draw...

"You said you've been with the Rebellion for a year, how'd you manage to get caught up in all this?" He frowned again, looking over to her.

"It just kind of happened actually. One day I'm helping my Uncle on his moisture farm and the next I'm in a snub-fighter about to attack the biggest Battlestation the Galaxy has seen. It all happened really fast, actually."

"Moisture farming? You're not from Tatooine then, are you? Or Ord Mandell? Aren't many places dry enough for that." He nodded, a distinct expression of sadness on his face. He was very open with his emotions, with no restraint at all.

"Yeah, Tatooine. I was raised by my Aunt and Uncle there. It wasn't until I went to see Ben that I..." he stopped speaking, looking nervous, before looking hesitantly over to her. The young Sith just watched him mildly, aware that the sympathy she suddenly felt was visible on her face. He was really just a Farmboy, thrown head first into a Civil War that would likely consume his life.

"Life has a funny way of running away with you, doesn't it," she said quietly, turning back to her work, falling silent as the other Rebels passed them again.

"No kidding. I wanted to leave that rock for so long, but..." he sighed heavily, "I wish it had been in a different way." She stopped in front of him, pausing before lifting another crate. She wanted to say something, but she didn't know what. He took the crate from her, leaving her standing there as he placed it on the repulsorlift.

"What do they think of all this, your Aunt and Uncle? Are they still on Tatooine?" He was silent for a long moment.

"No. They were killed by the Empire." Athara was stopped in her tracks.

"I—I'm sorry."

"Me too." She looked up at him, hearing and sensing the guilt in his tone.

"You feel guilty. Why?" Now he looked up at her.

"I wasn't there." This conversation was taking a dark turn indeed. She certainly didn't need the Force to sense the remorse and shame pouring off him. She fixed him with a stern look.

"If you had been, it's not hard to believe that you'd be dead too. And the Death Star would still be around." He dropped his gaze a bit, a thoughtful look on his face. She turned away. "Many things would be different," she added soberly.

"I suppose you're right." He was obviously anxious to change the subject, and Athara couldn't blame him. She didn't think she knew anyone who wasn't at least a little touchy about the past right now. The Empire had a lot to pay for. Guilt flooded through her too; she had been a part of that. There was a great deal of blood on her hands as well.

"How does one get involved with the Rebellion?" Her voice was quiet, but he looked up, bewilderment replacing the sadness that had suffused his features a moment before.

"You want to join the Rebellion?" She shot him another stern look.

"Did I say that?"

"No, but—" He hesitated again, looking at her thoughtfully. "We are always looking for more supply runners." She smiled faintly, placing a final crate on the repulsorlift. She looked around briefly for the controller, spotting it on a pile of crates several feet away. She had a sudden idea, or rather, a reckless impulse. She quickly reached out with her senses, assuring herself that the others were all on the Rebel ship. Absently, she lifted her hand slightly, using the Force to call the controller to her.

The young Rebel's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his skull.

Keeping an unconcerned expression on her face, she fired up the repulsorlift, steering it toward the cargo bay doors. She turned to Skywalker.

"Are you coming?" He started to speak, but stopped, before taking a deliberate step toward her.

"How did you do that?" he hissed, astonishment colouring his voice. She gazed at him mildly.

"Do what?" He gestured to the controller in her hand.

"That. How did you do that?" She considered him for a moment. He yearned for knowledge; he was almost desperate to learn the ways of the Force. He had felt her use it, but didn't understand how to harness it himself. She was debating just what to say.

"The Force." She finally said simply, quietly. The farmboy looked awed.

"The Force," he whispered almost reverently, "You know the ways of the Force?" She shrugged absently, knowing very well he was likely to take the bait.

"A bit"

"Will you—could you—" he hesitated, unsure what to say next. She knew exactly what he wanted to say, amused by his impulsiveness. She was right when she pegged him as naïve before. For all he knew, she was an enemy, and he had basically just broadcasted that he was a grossly inexperienced Force-user. She supposed she could help him learn the basics of the Force, things that were neither Light nor Dark, and perhaps he could tell her about Kenobi, a man she still was bizarrely and inexplicably invested in finding out about. She decided to probe a little bit.

"What do you know of the Force?" she asked. He looked mildly embarrassed.

"Not much. Ben was trying to teach me, but—"

"He was killed." A flash of fear appeared on his face when she spoke, startling her for an instant.

"How did you—"

"I can feel your sorrow when you speak of him, Skywalker." She had only told a half-lie, for she really could feel his grief from the Jedi's passing, but she still paused a moment to ensure that he bought it. "The Force can allow us to sense many things." His bright blue eyes were suddenly full of determination.

"Can you teach me?" His voice had none of the hesitation that it had before. Once again, Athara considered him, but she found her decision had already been made. For the first time in over a year, the mysterious presence returned suddenly as though to encourage her. This sandy-haired rebel was important, and her feelings, and the presence, urged her to help him as best she could. The more logical side of her mind was not so easily convinced. Vader had told her to lay low, and teaching this rebel about the Force would likely make that charge more difficult to accomplish. She sighed deeply.

"I may regret it, but if I can, I will." He grinned widely, but she put a stop to that quickly with a finger pointed threateningly at him. "This arrangement will stay between us. Only a handful of people in the Galaxy know of my abilities. What I know is dangerous, Farmboy. The Emperor does not look kindly on Force-users." He nodded vehemently, the earnest expression back on his face. Content that he understood how serious she was, she turned back to the repulsorlift full of supplies she was steering.

"Come on, Skywalker. We have work to do."

"Luke," She turned back to him for a moment.

"Sorry?"

"It's Luke. My name's Luke." He looked at her sheepishly for a moment. "I figure it's better than calling me Skywalker all the time." She gave him a mock considering look, hiding her amusement.

"I think I prefer Farmboy, to be honest." It took him a split-second to catch on that she was teasing, but when he did, he looked down to his boots, a bashful smile on his face. Athara almost did laugh this time. Next he was going to be blushing.

She realized as he fell into step beside her, chatting amiably, that she was going to enjoy spending time with him.


	9. Chapter 8

Never, in a million years, had Athara ever dreamed that she would become involved with the Rebellion. It truly was an absurd idea. She was Darth Vader's apprentice; the Right Hand of the Emperor's Right Hand. She was feared across the Galaxy and highly respected among the Troops she once commanded. She had led dozens of minor engagements, many of which were against the Rebels themselves. Engagements that she'd won. She was an enemy, a threat.

But she had also vanished, so far as both the Empire and the Rebellion were concerned. That had certainly resulted in an interesting situation.

Since Vader ordered her to disappear for her own safety, she had changed. She held no illusions to the contrary. She had gone from an order-dependent Imperial agent to an apolitical independent freelancer, to a Rebel Smuggler in less than two years. She had been able to start with a clean slate; no one she had yet encountered since the Battle of Yavin had any suspicions of her true identity that she was aware of, and she preferred it that way. She was no longer quite as proud of her accomplishments as she had been in the past. That didn't mean she had no respect for her past; she was still rather proud of her own tenacity and quick thinking on past occasions, as well as her prowess with the Force. She was also still dimly proud of her military achievements, though the opponents she had triumphed against were now essentially her allies; the more she thought of it, she was proud of her capabilities, rather than her actual actions.

Still, part of her missed her old position. She was a fair leader, and she missed the satisfaction that used to come with running a tight ship. After worming her way into the Alliance, she realized with time that it was a spike of jealousy that shot through her whenever she witnessed military initiatives and events happening around her.

She also missed Vader. There was an old saying that said something about not realizing how much something or someone meant to you until they were gone. Well, Vader wasn't gone, per se, but Athara had been separated from her Master for far longer than she ever had before, and she missed him. Almost everything she was, save what she had learned in the past two years, she was because of his tutelage. She found that she could sympathize with Luke when he spoke of missing Ben because of the ache she felt at being separated from her own Master. She missed his guidance and, as strange as it might sound to anyone else, she missed his reassuring presence. He was her Master, and as she had revealed to the Princess in the detention block of the _Devastator_ , he had raised her. His methods might have been blunt and even harsh, but he cared for her in his own way, and she was pretty sure he valued her presence as much if not more than she valued his. Rumour had it that since her 'departure', he was executing officers at an alarming rate simply because they displeased him, if there even was any reason at all. It was a rumour that disturbed her greatly, for though she knew he was horribly cruel in the eyes of the Galaxy, it was still unlike him to be so wholly and irrationally reckless with his punishments. Yes, he had always been unforgiving and ruthless with his own brand of justice, but there was always some sense of reason behind it, even if it was a reason that belonged only to him. Never, in all the time she had known the Dark Lord, had he ever regularly behaved in such a way as current rumours suggested.

It was no longer her immediate concern though, she simply couldn't afford for it to be. Her loyalties were her own now, and not conditional on those of her Master. Now a great many of her loyalties belonged to the Rebellion, and one Rebel in particular. She was still largely apolitical, for she didn't directly belong to the Alliance, nor did she support the Empire anymore. The supply running aspect of her life was simply a job. She was involved with the Alliance for one reason.

Luke.

Once she became involved with running shipments for the Rebellion, she had begun working with the sandy-haired farmboy, teaching him the basics of the Force that she had known since childhood. It hadn't been long before she was running supplies directly to the Rebel's newest bases, so she was often able to steal away for several hours at a time to work with Luke.

She was immensely pleased with his progress, and he was a quick study, eagerly absorbing everything she taught him. Regardless of his enthusiasm, though, he still hit stumbling blocks, and when he did, frustration ruled him. She felt for him, she really did; he was trying to learn a lifetime of lessons in as short a time as possible. Athara had been learning everything she knew since childhood; Luke hadn't even known of the Force's existence until just over two years earlier. Yes, he was learning in leaps and bounds, but he was still progressing slower than he wanted to. It was irritating him to no end, adding to the recesses of anger she felt growing in him. It was that anger that worried her. Being a student of the Dark Side herself, she recognized the seeds that, if allowed to grow, would take over, drowning out the Light in him. Even as a Sith apprentice, she hesitated to encourage Luke to draw on that anger. The thought of doing so felt wrong, sending a chill down her spine whenever she even considered the possibility. She wasn't sure what to make of the feeling, but had decided to trust it.

As a result, Athara kept trying to impress on him that it would take time and practice before he was able to use the Force with the same ease she could, but he wasn't receptive to her assurances. It was blatantly clear that he had massive potential, but Athara refused to move beyond the most basic of lessons; meditation, reaching out to sense one's surroundings, shielding one's presence, reaching out to touch the Force. It was proving to be rather difficult, not only because of his impatience, but because of her own fear of tainting the Light in him with the Dark Side, as well as the pervading fear she had of discovery. Being as old as he was, Luke was set in his ways, and those were often ways that rode contrary to truths about the Force. He relied fully on his physical senses, especially his eyes, and would often disregard his feelings. He couldn't place his trust wholly in the Force. It was starting to drive Athara crazy.

"Well then you do it!" came one particular outburst from the young Rebel. Athara looked at the blue-eyed rebel with an expression bordering on disdain.

"I can do it. It is you who need to learn how." Luke scoffed at her carefully measured tone.

"Well maybe I can't, how about that." Athara's expression melted into one of skepticism. Yeah right. When it came to things like lightsaber skills or more physical training, he was making remarkable progress that proved undeniably that the Force was strong with him, and when he flew he was instinctively using the Force, enhancing his already impressive natural piloting abilities.

"How do you know? You aren't trying hard enough." He shot her a dark look before reluctantly conceding to her point. "Now, relax, clear your mind; take a deep breath. Reach out, but don't think, feel," Luke followed her instructions, letting out a long, slow breath before extending his hand, trying to use the Force to call his lightsaber to him.

The silver weapon didn't budge.

Athara sighed.

"That's enough for today." Luke's shoulders slumped at her pronouncement. She reached out, placing a hand on his arm. But she had no reassurances at the moment. She knew very well that he had the ability, but he didn't trust the Force to guide him. "Come on."

She didn't wait to see if he was following her, but strode out of the _Flame_ 's cargo bay without him, wanting nothing more than to work out her own frustrations. She couldn't quite do that here though. Since beginning to work with Luke, she had put away her own ruby saber and had begun to use Kenobi's lightsaber when she and Luke focused on that aspect of his training. She couldn't risk any parallels being drawn to her former life, and though Luke had possibly never even heard of Obscura before, she couldn't risk a slip on his part should someone else make a comment that set off his suspicion. More than that, she had taken to holding back when they sparred, knowing full well that she was still miles ahead of him when it came to her lightsaber training, which also didn't help her any. So she hadn't had a good chance to work off her frustrations with a lightsaber in ages. Besides, she had yet to let on that she had more than a cursory knowledge of the Force to the young Rebel.

Struggling to restrain her own frustration, she made her way to the cockpit, all but flinging herself into the pilot's chair. Holding her forehead in her hands, she tried to follow her own instruction and calm her mind. The ambiguous presence was back, offering reassurance as always, having become a familiar companion of sorts when she tried to tutor Luke. After several moments, her thoughts began to calm and her mind cleared. N3 rolled up beside her, beeping reassuringly. A faint smile on her face, she laid a hand on the droid's green dome. The little droid and his counterpart had become an indispensable presence in her life. They were her companions on long trips, and had become quite well acquainted with the _Flame_.

After another moment N3 whirred quietly in greeting as Luke entered the cockpit, a meek expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, Tamara. I'm not making things easy, am I." Athara tried to suppress a grin. It didn't work very well.

"Not really. But it's not all your fault either." Luke sank into the co-pilot's chair. They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

"I was taught what you are trying to learn when I was a child, and it took years. Plus, the one who taught me was a far harder taskmaster than I am. I lived and breathed this until I had mastered these skills." Luke looked up at her, sensing the hint of sadness in her voice through the Force.

"You miss your teacher, don't you." She met his measuring gaze, a small corner of her mind pleased that he had sensed her longing. She nodded.

"You're improving. And yes, I miss him and his guidance. He—" she cut herself off, reminding herself that she was in danger of revealing too much. Luke saw, more than sensed, her hesitation. But before he could say anything, his Comlink beeped. Frowning, he retrieved it from his belt.

"Yes?"

" _Commander Skywalker, Captain Solo is waiting for you at the Command Centre._ " An immediate change came over the Farmboy, turning him into the Commander he had recently been promoted to. Athara restrained herself from grinning. She knew she had changed in the last year, but Luke had changed even more. Periodically, especially during his lessons with her, the naïve boy from Tatooine surfaced, but for the most part, he had grown into his role as an important figure to the Rebellion.

"Thank you Lieutenant, tell him I'll be there shortly." He stood, replacing his Comlink as he began to head for the cockpit door.

"Mission?" she queried.

"Yeah." He paused before turning to face her, a considering look on his face. "Come with me." Athara couldn't hide her surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"Come with me, and Han. We're off to Nubia to see about a possible supplier of ship parts. We could use you." She looked at him skeptically.

"I'm not sure about that."

"Come on, I've seen you haggle with dealers before, you're good. We need all the help we can get." Athara considered for a long moment. If she tagged along she could work with him some more; perhaps some practical training would do him good. Plus she'd finally get to meet this Captain Solo. Despite having dealings with the Alliance for over a year, she had contact with very few of the Rebels, and Luke was always raving about his companions, regaling her with tales of their exploits. The thought also struck her that for the last few years she had been debating whether or not to make the trip to Nubia. Why not now? Surely she could manage to have a bit of time to herself, right?

"Very well. It could be interesting." Luke smiled widely, grabbing her hand and all but dragging her along behind him.

They were challenged as they approached the heart of the Rebel Base, as Athara didn't have clearance, but a few hushed words from Luke and she was allowed to continue on with him.

"That's not going to get you into trouble, is it?" she questioned him worriedly. Luke shrugged.

"No idea," he paused, glancing at her for a moment, "but I trust you. That should be good enough for them." The admission nearly caused Athara to stumble.

Once in the Command Centre, Luke slowed down, greeting the other Rebels with the friendly ease that came naturally to him. Eventually though, the sandy-haired Rebel spotted his friend on the other side of the room. Following along close behind, she paused when he groaned.

"Not again," he muttered wearily. Athara frowned, following his gaze. When she saw who he was looking at, she nearly choked. Arguing animatedly with a rather tall and somewhat dashing Corellian she assumed to be Captain Solo was a rather irritated Princess Leia.

Athara had been lucky thus far in that she hadn't encountered the former Consular. In theory, Leia wouldn't recognize her, as she hadn't seen the Sith apprentice's face onboard the _Devastator_ or the Death Star. Though she no longer wore her hood or even her cloak on a regular basis anymore, Athara wasn't at all eager to test that theory. There were still a lot of things that the Princess could recognize: her voice, her bearing, her mannerisms, anything. Before she could say anything or even think up some sort of excuse, Luke was already approaching the pair. Suppressing her own groan, Athara reluctantly followed.

"Well excuse me, your worshipfulness, but I have no intention of getting involved in anything of the sort."

"That is not the point, Han, and you know it." Leia was so irritated that she was practically snarling, but the smuggler in front of her wasn't backing down either.

"Do you really need to fight like this?" Luke interrupted the bickering pair, distracting the two from their argument. Han huffed, crossing his arms petulantly. Athara was hard pressed to keep her sudden flash of amusement hidden beneath her familiar mask of neutrality.

"If he would just see sense, we wouldn't have to argue," Leia snipped, shooting Solo a cutting glare. Luke sighed. Han was about to make a snappy comeback, but Luke interrupted him.

"Han, is our mission still on?" The Captain shut his mouth, looking from the fuming Princess to the Farmboy beside him. After a moment of fighting to keep his retort to himself, he frowned. Leia waved her hand in exasperation, turning back to the row of consoles behind her.

"Yeah, Luke, we're still going." Shooting the Princess his own cutting glare, Han turned to leave, hesitating when he noticed Athara standing behind Luke. "Who's this?" Athara fought to keep her expression friendly as not only Han and Luke's eyes turned to her, but Leia's as well.

"This is one of our Supply Runners, Captain Tamara of the _Amaran_ _Flame_. She's coming with us." Athara fought to keep from looking at the Princess as she met Solo's appraising gaze.

"The _Amaran_ _Flame_ , huh? I've heard good things. Never lost a shipment, never been boarded. I even heard rumour that you've hit Black Sun ships before. Though, I must say, you're younger than I expected." Athara nodded once, forcing herself to smile a little.

"Well, some rumours do have a basis in fact, Captain Solo. I've heard quite a few about you too, and not all of them from Luke, here." The Captain shot her a crooked smile that was oddly charming. She soon found herself genuinely returning it.

"All of them good, I hope." She wouldn't have been surprised at all if he had winked at her. She refrained from rolling her eyes though. Beside her, Luke was trying desperately not to laugh. Leia looked incensed.

"A few of them," Athara quipped back. Han shot the Princess a brief glance, so quick Athara almost missed it. An idea twigged in the back of her mind; it would certainly make sense. She couldn't dwell on it long though, because at that moment Leia decided to examine her.

"I feel like I know you. Have we met before?" Athara feigned thoughtfulness for a moment. It was a good thing the young Sith was a fair liar, because it was going to take all of her skill to mislead the Princess, and if Leia wasn't convinced, she would probably figure it out eventually simply to satisfy the nagging feeling. Athara needed to banish that feeling.

"I don't believe so. I highly doubt our paths have ever crossed, your Highness." Leia considered her for a moment, a distant look on her face.

"There is something—familiar about you." Athara was about to speak when Luke cut in.

"She's been running supplies for the Alliance for over a year now, you must have seen her at some point." After a moment, the Princess nodded slowly, resignation flitting across her features.

"Perhaps. You had all better go." She whirled on Solo, a threatening finger pointed directly at his nose. He flinched visibly, earning a slight smirk from the Princess. "I expect word that you've made contact with the Nubian Underground Movement. That's an order from the General, not from me, so you had better not skip contacting them." She effectively ended the discussion by thrusting a datapad against Solo's chest, leaving him to catch it awkwardly. The Captain looked like he could've growled at her. Giving Luke a quick hug, the Princess left the three of them, heading off to the other side of the command centre. Han shook his head, his eyes never leaving the Princess.

"Can you believe her?" He muttered to himself. This time Luke was the one to roll his eyes, beating Athara to it. She nearly chuckled as the smuggler turned, catching sight of Luke's exasperated expression. "What?" Luke sighed, ignoring the Captain's annoyed tone.

"Come on," he said with a trace of impatience. Gesturing for Athara to follow him, he headed toward the landing bays, not bothering to check that Han was following them. The Smuggler was close behind, though, easily catching up to the pair of them with his long strides.

"So, Captain Tamara. Luke said you're coming with us."

"So it would seem. I kind of got dragged along," Athara quipped. Luke shot her an exasperated look.

"I did not drag you along," he said. Athara grinned.

"Alright, I agreed to come. I'm a fair negotiator when it comes to dealers, plus I have—personal reasons." The two men turned at her hesitation. Luke paused, levelling a questioning look at his tutor.

"Personal reasons?" Athara met his gaze.

"Yeah. I have—family on Nubia," she said, attempting to say it lightly. It sort of worked. The young pilot's eyebrow's rose at her revelation.

"You never told me that."

"Never came up." A slightly suspicious looks crossed his face. Han broke the silence, placing an arm around each of them.

"Well, we're on a bit of a tight schedule. Shall we?" They continued to the landing bay. Athara didn't have to be told which ship they were headed to; she recognized the freighter easily, and not just because she had once seen it in the hangar of the Death Star....

"So, that is the famous _Millennium_ _Falcon_ ," she could practically feel Han's ego growing as she surveyed the ship, "supposedly the 'Fastest Hunk of Junk in the Galaxy'," and she could almost feel it deflate. She tried to suppress a smile as Solo scoffed.

"Supposedly? Have you even heard of the Kessel Run?" The three of them boarded the ship, meeting up with Han's co-pilot, Chewbacca, and Luke's astrodroid before settling in to prepare for take-off.

Athara usually found that rumour didn't often live up to fact, but in the case of the _Falcon_ , the rumours were indeed true. She was fast, especially at lightspeed. It didn't take long at all before they were well on the way to Nubia. As soon as the ship was hurtling through hyperspace, Athara stood, leaving the cockpit for the common area. Now that she was on the way to Nubia, her thoughts kept turning to what she meant to do there, and who she was steeling herself to visit. Sliding behind the Dejarik table, she pulled her legs up in front her, leaning her chin on her knees.

It was there that Luke found her lost in thought. Sliding in beside her, he leaned on the table. Athara didn't move a muscle. It was several long moments before either of them spoke, but eventually, it was Athara who broke the silence, her voice quiet amid the constant thrum of the ship.

"It's been a very long time since I've been back. I've been meaning to go to Nubia for a while now, but I've never convinced myself to go." Luke watched her quietly, fingers drumming on the table.

"At least you still have family," he finally replied, a somber tone to his voice. Athara looked over at him a faint, almost wistful smile on her face.

"They aren't really my family. My parents are dead. The Jengals took care of me until, well…" she hesitated. She didn't know how to say what came next right now. Darth Vader came and took her back, training her as his apprentice? That might not give the right impression. She didn't know what to tell him. She hated lying to the blue-eyed Rebel. He was so open and honest that guilt gnawed at her when she even considered it. Lying to the Princess or Reem or even Madal didn't prompt the same reaction that lying to Luke did.

"Do you want some company?" Athara smiled, looking over at him.

"No. This is something I have to do alone. Besides, you and Han need to make contact with the Nubian Underground Movement. I'd only get in the way for that."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right." In a moment of spontaneity, Luke reached over and took her hand. The gesture startled Athara, but she managed to keep it mostly to herself. Luke didn't seem to notice. "You'll do fine. I'm sure they'll be happy to see you." Athara nearly scoffed.

"I'm not sure how pleased they'll be with my—chosen profession." He laughed at her sarcasm. He didn't know the half of it.

"You're probably right about that." He thought for a moment before shrugging, "just don't tell them."

"You mean lie." He shrugged again. Before he could say anything more, though, Han and Chewbacca emerged from the cockpit. Luke pulled his hand away the instant he heard the cocky smuggler approach, leaving Athara with a brief surge of disappointment that surprised her more than the initial gesture.

"Well, we are well on the way to Nubia. Should be a fun trip." Solo looked at them in turn before letting his gaze linger on Athara.

"You thought I'd be older?" Athara couldn't resist baiting the smuggler, and he predictably rose to the occasion.

"Come on, of course. You're still practically a kid. Only a pirate with years of experience could take on a Black Sun ship." She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Oh really." Solo hesitated a moment as the wookiee beside him huffed in amusement. Athara lowered her legs, leaning forward to level a measuring look at the _Falcon_ 's Captain. "Well, it seems we are both to be disappointed...I thought you'd be younger." A brief flare of irritation flickered in his eyes.

"Well, with age comes experience." He was slick, but Athara could barely keep from laughing.

"But you don't need to be old to be experienced." He leaned back in his seat, an expression of mock outrage on his face.

"I am not old."

"That's all a matter of perspective, isn't it?" Han gaped, "You're what thirty-something? Forty?" Luke choked.

"I am not!" Han was starting to sound petulant again. Chewbacca and Luke were trying desperately not to laugh. She slid out from behind the table, leaning against it without breaking eye contact. "Since you're so caught up on my age, how old do you think I am?" Han held her grey-blue gaze, staring at her intently. After a moment his crooked smile returned as he leaned back, folding his hands behind his head.

"Twenty-three." Athara let loose a laugh. Han's slick smile faded.

"You're off a bit. Four years too many, actually." Han leaned forward, his skepticism easy to see.

"You're nineteen?" Athara looked at him smugly. After a moment the disbelief disappeared to be replaced with an impressed look.

"You are good." Luke let loose an outraged exclamation.

"Hey, I was that old when I blew up the Death Star." Han shrugged.

"No offence, Kid, but it's a little harder to make a go at smuggling and pirating than taking a lucky shot." Luke looked like he was going to start pouting any moment. Athara just smiled sweetly.

"Be nice, Captain. If he'd had the opportunity, I'd be willing to bet he'd kick your cocky butt, especially at flying this hunk of junk." The impressed look vanished. Athara grinned, returning to her seat beside Luke. Chewbacca made a snarky comment about taking a bet like that, ignoring the cutting glare that Han shot him.


	10. Chapter 9

Funny, it had been fourteen years and the small, ochre-bricked house didn't look any different. Athara stood on the street, looking at the building, considering it. Perhaps it looked a little smaller than it had the day she left. Then again, she had been a lot smaller then herself.

Part of her had always wanted to go back, but she had always been afraid to. Her hesitation to return to Nubia for the sole purpose of visiting the Jengals had always been assisted by the fact that she had been too busy to do so. As Obscura, she simply couldn't. But now, as Athara, or rather Tamara, she could. The only problem was that it was proving to be a lot more difficult than she had imagined. It seemed almost foolish now. She had only been with the little family in their little house for five years when she was a small child. It was so long ago...would they really want to see her if she were to show up on their front door?

Where was the encouraging presence when she needed it...

She continued to stand there, watching the house, trying to muster the courage to approach. As the minutes passed, the more doubt began to creep into her thoughts. Would she be welcomed? Would they even know her? Would they want to know her?

Finally she let out a long, slow breath. This was pointless.

Trixton and Beryl Jengal were central to Athara's earliest memories. There was no time before her stay with them, and after them was her time with Vader. It was from them that she learned to walk, to speak, read, write and, more importantly perhaps, to feel compassion. Trixton had taken her on her first trip to the seaside and taken her to the Nubian Shipyards. Beryl read her stories and sang to her every night before bed. As she had begun to separate herself from her former identity as Vader’s Shadow, she was beginning to realize that the impact they made on her had likely contributed to her hesitation towards embracing the Dark Side the way she was expected to.

That was why she stood outside their home.

Once upon a time it was her home too... and then Vader came into her life.

The Jengals had three children of their own; Perry, who was three years older than Athara; Kendra, who was one year older; and Mona, who was two years younger. Kendra and Perry had been the closest thing the young Sith had ever had to friends. Even from a young age she had been distant from other children. Trixton's sister, Renate, had always told her it was because she saw things differently than the other children, that she was special. The older woman had been closer to the mark than she realized; Athara apparently had been in touch with the Force from an early age. She learned faster, knew intuitively what those around her were feeling and had unusually quick reflexes.

It was those early hallmarks of a child strong in the Force that had distanced Athara from others. As young children were sometimes prone to doing in the face of the unusual, they were fascinated at first, but soon they banded together against that which they didn't understand. Eventually, some began to fear her, and soon Athara was left with no one by her side save her adoptive siblings. It was one such occasion where her 'otherness' surfaced that proved to Athara definitively that there was something that separated her irrevocably from the other children.

Once she had started her initial schooling alongside the other Nubian children, she had marginally blended in among them, but soon enough, she was easily surpassing them academically thanks to her Force potential. Instinctively, she picked up reading, maths and the alternate language basics that the Nubian educational system taught. The other students began to grow resentful, and some of the older and cleverer of them began to play tricks on her, or at least they tried to. Her reflexes and acute senses usually clued her in on the pranks and traps they set for her. Resentment grew even more as a result, and the older children began to spread that discontent among themselves. It was then that she got in a fight that changed everything. To be more accurate, it was really a fight she avoided. The incident was burned into her mind, such was the impact it had.

One particular student, a young Rodian named Torma, had tried to pick on her for the umpteenth time by dropping a rockworm on her while she ate. But Athara deftly avoided it, sensing Torma and her trio of friends before the childish trap was set and unintentionally turning it back on them. The Rodian girl was furious and stormed up to the future Sith apprentice, starting the fight with a painful grip on Athara's dark blonde hair. With a yelp, Athara had lashed out instinctively, knocking Torma over with a small blast of Force energy. The response only infuriated her opponent further, and the Rodian girl began to flail at Athara. Again, her instincts took over, and Athara easily dodged every punch and kick, even leaping out of the way with an unnatural speed.

The fight finally culminated with Athara backed up against the wall of the school building. The rest of the students had clustered around the pair, watching with wide, eager eyes as the older Rodian confronted the strange little human girl that always wore a knowing look. Shouts were thrown around them, deafening them to the shouts of distant teachers and forbidding any cry for help that Athara might had uttered if she had felt so inclined. With one final, angry swing, Torma tried to land a punch on Athara, only to have her seven-year-old fist connect with a sickening crunch with the duracrete wall when her target shifted at the last instant.

The instant Athara ducked away from that punch she essentially became an exile. She was strange, she moved too fast and too easily; it was unnatural, and it was scary to the other young children around her. More than that, though, was the look of perfect calm that suffused the little girl's face as Torma attacked her. There hadn't been a trace of fear in her as the older child came after Athara. Every child, save a screaming Torma, went deathly silent.

After that, the other children began to fear her, to stay away from her. Perry and Kendra would periodically defend her, but they remained her only friends. The Jengals stood by her, especially Renate.

At the time, she didn't understand why the others didn't like her; she just hadn't wanted to get hurt when Torma attacked her. No one else really understood, but Renate came the closest. Looking back, the Sith apprentice wondered if the older woman suspected her Force potential. After all, though Trixton was the only one to know at that point that she was there at Vader's command, he, Renate and Beryl were old enough to know of the Jedi, and to know what Force-users were capable of.

Whether her adoptive aunt suspected or not, she still always stood by young Athara, and when she set her mind to something, Renate was a force to be reckoned with despite her quiet, reserved disposition. The thought caused Athara to smile as she continued to gaze at her old home. Even when Vader finally came to claim his future apprentice, Renate had been the only one who didn't quake at the sight of the imposing Dark Lord.

It hadn't been long after the incident with Torma when Vader appeared at the Jengal's front door to collect Athara. It was one more memory that had been branded into the young Sith's mind.

She had been playing with baby Mona in the family room when the door chime sounded that day. It all seemed so normal as Trixton answered the door, but as soon as he saw who stood on the other side, all the blood left his ruddy face, leaving him pale as the Sith Lord strode past him into the house. Athara had looked up when her adopted father's strong voice faltered, and she stood when Vader's dark form crossed into her vision like a shadow. As soon as the Dark Lord saw her, he stopped in his tracks, his respirator making the only sound in the room. Athara could feel that the little girl behind her was scared enough to cry, but didn't dare. For some reason that she still couldn't explain, she wasn't scared at all, like she knew he had no intention of hurting her. She just looked up at the intimidating masked man with a considering look on her face. They had stood like that for the longest time, watching each other, sizing the other up.

They were finally interrupted when a terrified gasp and a metallic thud shattered the quiet. Beryl, curious who was at the door, had come out of the kitchen where she had been finishing the dinner clean-up. The moment she saw the Dark Lord of the Sith in her little family room, terror shot through her, causing her to drop the pot in her hands. It wasn't long after that when Renate came home from visiting one friend or another. She also froze upon seeing the Dark Lord standing in their small living room, though it was more from shock rather than fear.

Athara hadn't understood their reactions then, and had been confused by the fear that had suddenly gripped the only family she'd ever known. She looked from one adult to another, her little five-year-old self pondering the sudden excess of fear at the appearance of the huge black stranger standing in front of her.

"You're scaring everyone." It was the first thing she had ever said to her future Master, and he had been visibly taken aback by the frank statement from the little girl in front of him. He didn't answer her though. Beryl made a small scared sound when Athara spoke, but she was too frightened to react further. Athara looked at her for a moment, considering the response before turning back to Vader.

"Who are you?"

"Do you not know who I am, youngling?" The little girl shook her head, an open expression on her round face. Vader just continued to watch her. Though she couldn't see his face, she knew she faintly amused him.

"I am Lord Vader."

"Oh." She thought for a moment, her face screwing up in thought. "Why are you here?"

"I am here for you." Her blue-grey eyes widened, and a small shiver of apprehension when through her.

"Why?"

"You are coming with me." It was then that Renate found her voice.

"She is only a child." Vader turned to face the woman behind him. Beryl and Trixton visibly shrank away from his gaze, but Renate did not. The Dark Lord studied her for a moment, much as he had studied Athara, before he spoke, startling everyone.

"Do not fear for the girl. She will be safe with me." This time it was Renate whose eyes widened in surprise. Beryl and Trixton were stunned as well, but their fear quickly reasserted itself. After a moment, Vader turned to Beryl and Trixton.

"Prepare the child to leave. I will return for her tomorrow." With one last glance at Athara, he turned and disappeared through the front door, his black cloak billowing behind him.

Athara's memory was not so clear after that. She vaguely remembered Beryl crying a lot as she packed up what few belongings Athara had. She also remembered Trixton pulling her into several of the big hugs she loved burrowing into and Renate pulling her younger self onto her lap for a long cuddle. Though she couldn't remember the words any of them spoke, she distinctly remembered the feeling behind them. She may not have been their true child, but they loved her dearly, and they feared for her safety. Renate, especially, feared for the little girl she loved as a daughter. She tried to impress on young Athara the importance of kindness, honesty and, perhaps most importantly, compassion. Athara hadn't understood then, but whatever the older woman had said had obviously made an impression, for the desire to ‘remember to be good,’ as Renate put it, never quite left the young Sith apprentice.

Athara almost didn't realize she had begun to move before she found herself standing outside the very front door that she had left through all those years ago. Standing there, Athara began to wonder if any credit for her tendency to lean toward the lighter side of the Force should go to that vague memory of Renate urging her not to forget to be a good little girl. She also couldn't help but wonder if any of them had realized that the Shadow at Vader's side was the little girl they had once sheltered in their home, and if they would resent or fear her because of it.

Renate had been the last one she hugged when Vader once again appeared in the doorway of the Jengal's home. When she hugged Trixton and Beryl goodbye, they had been hesitant to let her go, but they did anyway. Perry, Kendra and Mona weren't there. As soon as Vader had left the day before, they had been whisked away to their grandparents' home.

Trixton's sister was far more reluctant to let her go, keeping the little girl in her tight embrace for as long as she could. It was only when Vader spoke that Renate pulled back, touching Athara's cheek affectionately one last time.

"Remember us, and remember to be good." Athara had wanted to cry, but the one tear that escaped onto her cheek was swiftly wiped away.

"I want you to come with me. I don't want to go." A tight smile had appeared on Renate's face.

"I know, sweet girl. But you're strong, Athara, and we love you. Don't ever forget that. Now go." She then physically turned the five-year old and nudged her toward the towering Dark Lord whose expressionless mask watched the exchange, deep in thought.

Athara remembered every word of that conversation. She remembered the feeling of apprehension at leaving the only family she had known; she remembered straightening her small spine and walking confidently toward the Sith, determined not to cry anymore. He looked down on her for another moment before turning and striding out the door. A flash of panic shot through her and she ran after him, her little legs struggling to keep up with his long ones. He glanced back only once to see if she was following, and when he did, he slowed his pace, allowing the young Athara to walk along beside him.

She vaguely remembered, as they had walked away from the little house, reaching up to place her tiny hand in his large mechanical one.

She also remembered that he hadn't pull away, but that his leather-clad fingers had tightened around hers.

Taking one final deep breath, Athara pressed the door chime, almost forgetting to release that breath as she waited for an answer.

It was a long, tense moment before the door eased open, a thin worried face peering out at Athara. Though giving no outward sign, Athara nearly took a double take. The young woman who opened the door looked like a younger version of the Beryl she remembered. Only Kendra had been the spitting image of her mother.

"Can I help you?" Suspicion laced every word, nearly bringing a frown to Athara's face.

"I hope so." Athara had barely slept the night before, running over what to say when... if she saw the Jengals again. That wasn't it. The young woman frowned, a faint glimmer of recognition in her eyes.

"Do I know you?" Athara struggled to find a way to answer, but the words she wanted didn't come.

"May I come in?" Once again, the suspicious look returned, but after a moment of visibly fighting her better judgment, Kendra stood aside, allowing Athara to enter the house. It didn't look all that different from the last time she stood there. The blues and yellows that Beryl loved still decorated the family room, though some of the furniture was different. She was interrupted from her musings when a throat was cleared behind her. Turning, she met Kendra's suspicious gaze.

"You never answered my question. Are you one of the Imperials that were here? What do you want this time?" This time Athara did frown. A faint flicker of dread appeared in the back of her mind, but she quickly pushed it aside.

"Imperials?" Now the older Jengal girl looked almost angry.

"Stop messing with me. Who are you, and why were you watching my house?" Athara swallowed the lump in her throat before answering, her voice small and apprehensive.

"I used to live here." Confusion spread across Kendra's face before her large brown eyes widened, a hint of fear surfacing only to be replaced with hatred. Athara was taken aback, but before she could say anything, another young woman came in the front door, followed by a young man. Athara had to fight the smile that was about to spring to her lips. It had been a long time, but she easily recognized Perry and Mona; they both had so much of Trixton in them, with the same smiling eyes and strong features. Her happiness at seeing all of her once-adoptive siblings was cut short by the low, threatening tone of Kendra's voice.

"You." The three others all turned to the eldest Jengal sister.

"Kendra!" Mona was the only one to vocalize her shock at her sister's reaction, but the young woman ignored her little sister, taking an angry step toward Athara. Instinctively Athara bristled, sensing the anger and aggression coming off Kendra in waves. Struggling to calm herself and make sense of this turn of events, Athara reached out with her senses, searching for anyone else in the house. Foreboding began to grow in the pit of her stomach.

"Where are your parents?" Mona and Perry both blanched, and Kendra's response was little more than a quiet snarl.

"They're dead."

Those two words hit Athara like a punch in the gut. Despite her control, she blanched herself. She couldn't speak, she couldn't even breathe. A flash of satisfaction flickered over Kendra's face.

"They were looking for you. The Imperials. We didn't know anything; we hadn't seen you since that monster took you away. But they didn't believe us, so they executed Mother, Father and Aunt Renate for treason. They probably would've killed us too if we had been here." Athara could feel the grief that flooded through her threaten her careful control, sparking a flame of intense rage to grow deep in her belly. The soothing presence had once again emerged from the Force, hesitantly reaching out for her. She looked over to the other two Jengal siblings, seeing understanding growing in their eyes.

"Athara?" The disbelief in Perry's voice went unnoticed as Kendra plowed on.

"Get out. Get out of our house. You aren't welcome here."

"Kendra," Athara finally found her voice as desperation surged through her; she couldn't seem to wrap her head around this, "I don't understand. How—"

"How can you not understand?! You caused their deaths! You as good as murdered them yourself!" Kendra was nearly shrieking.

"I did nothing! I loved them!" Athara could feel tears prickling in her corners of her eyes as a dark shadow began to grow in the back of her mind. She fought back the tears, but the idea kept growing. The ambiguous presence tried again to reach out to her, offering comfort, but Athara violently pushed it away. She didn't want pity, she wanted answers.

Kendra scoffed, but it was Perry who spoke next, his voice soft and faintly accusing.

"They were looking for you. The Empire was looking for you. Whatever you did, they killed our family because of it." Athara couldn't stop the first tear, or the second, that fell as she tried to reconcile what they were telling her.

"I didn't know—I didn't—" She choked up, struggling to keep breathing. Mona made to step forward, but Kendra stopped her with a sharp glance.

"I don't care. We don't care." Knowing that there was nothing else to be said or done, Athara wanted nothing more than to escape. She could feel the rage building within her, threatening to spill over and ruin the carefully maintained mental shields that hid her from the Emperor. Nearby, a pane of glass cracked, followed shortly by another. She could feel her eyes beginning to turn. She needed to leave.

"I'm sorry," was all she could whisper before she pushed past the eldest Jengal sister, fleeing from the house that held so many of her warm memories. Memories now tarnished with the shade of events that she had inadvertently put in motion.

Athara kept walking when she reached the main street, not caring in the slightest where she was going. Eventually though, she couldn't continue on and instead ducked into the first bar that caught her eye. In her stupor, she had allowed herself to wander back toward the seedier district where Luke, Han and she were laying low, so the bar was not the nicest of establishments on Nubia. That didn't really occur to her to mind; she was so far past caring it didn't matter where she ended up. Besides, the way she was feeling, anyone who tried to mess with her would likely find themselves, well, dead.

Before long she was sitting in a dim booth, the glass in front of her empty and a second one in her hand nearly so. The strength of her grief was making it hard to suppress the anger that endangered her mental shields, especially after rejecting the help of the Force presence, but she found that the alcohol made the job easier. In fact she was seriously considering getting completely drunk. Until she met Madal and Reem, she had never really touched the stuff, save for at Imperial Functions. There simply hadn't been the opportunity or the desire. That changed as she integrated herself into the world of smugglers, pirates and other law-breakers. Still, she had only been completely drunk a handful of times. It was a state that was starting to look very appealing.

"Ata?" It was a testament to Athara's frazzled state of mind that she jumped at the soft voice. She looked up as the speaker slid into the booth across from her. She hadn't been called Ata in a very long time...

"Are you going to accuse me too, Mona?" A sad expression appeared on the younger woman's face as she shook her head.

"No. Kendra and Perry are angry, and there really isn't anyone they can lash out at." Athara met Mona's hazel gaze, calmed a little by the compassion she saw there. "I know it wasn't your fault. They loved you, and I know you loved them." Tears threatened to spill onto Athara's cheeks again. She lowered her gaze, guilt suffusing her despite the admission.

"I did. You and the rest of your family were the only family I have ever really had. I never wanted anything to happen to you. To be honest, I'm not even sure how anyone knew of your connection to me. I've been nothing but a shadow since I left Nubia." Frustration edged in on the grief and Athara finished the drink in front of her. Mona sighed, looking older than her seventeen, nearly eighteen years. The death of her parents and her aunt had taken its toll on her.

"They don't really hate you, Kendra and Perry. But our parents' de—it's a wound that's slow to heal, and you showing up out of the blue only reopened that wound." Athara looked up at the younger woman, a sudden, bright intensity burning in her eyes. Mona was visibly startled by the expression she saw there, a stab of fear going through her. For the first time she realized Athara was different than the girl she vaguely remembered; that she was dangerous. When the Sith apprentice spoke, her voice was low, every word punctuated by the same power that was apparent in her gaze.

"The Empire will pay for what has been done here. Of that you can be certain. I will avenge their deaths." Mona was visibly taken aback by the declaration.

"Ata, I—"

"Palpatine and his Empire have destroyed too much to ignore anymore. I can no longer stand by." Her blue-grey gaze was no longer focused on her companion, but instead on a montage of far off memories.

"Athara." Mona jolted the young Sith out of her trance, her expression suddenly worried. The passion-filled expression faded, leaving behind only a sad and haunted look.

"I'm sorry, Mona. I didn't mean to...nevermind." Mona took that moment to lower her gaze, suddenly focused on removing a pendant from around her neck. Taking one last look, she reached across the table, taking Athara's hand and placing the necklace into it. Athara looked to the young woman in confusion before lowering her own gaze to the small object in her hand. Mona's voice was thick with emotion.

"I remember when you gave me that. It's my first clear memory, actually. It was after—he came. I think you and Mama had gone to pack your things and I must have followed you to your room. Anyway, Mama left for a moment, and you grabbed this and put it into my hands. Daddy said you found it the year before when we went to the seashore, that it was just a plain old pebble. I never got rid of it though. Finally Daddy put it onto a chain for me, and I've worn it ever since." Athara began to tear up again as she looked down at the little blue and red-streaked pebble.

"You were as much my sister as Kendra, and you were as much Mama and Daddy's daughter as I was. I remember how sad they all looked whenever I asked about you, before I understood you had left for good. We all loved you, Ata." Athara sniffed, her fingers closing around the pebble pendant as she looked up to Mona. The girl had been the first one to call her Ata, being unable to wrap her toddler tongue around Athara. It wasn't long after that everyone began to call her by the petname. The presence returned, extending to encompass her in its soothing aura. This time Athara didn't push it away.

"I remember. Beryl couldn't understand why I wanted to bring this back with me, but Trix told her to leave me be. I thought it was too pretty to leave behind with the other plain old gray and brown stones. You always used to look at it when you managed to get into my room. That's why I gave it to you." Mona smiled, but after a moment her expression hardened.

"Make the Empire pay, Ata. I don't know how, but I know you can, that you have the power to do so." The zeal in her voice startled Athara, but she nodded.

"I will, Mona. You can rest assured that I will."

Soon afterward, the two women went their separate ways; Mona back home and Athara back to the _Falcon_. Luke, Han and Chewie were already there and waiting for her return, the latter two eager to be on their way. Athara didn't say much to any of them, merely indicating that she was ready to go as well before strapping in for take-off. Han spared her a single concerned look, having noticed a subtle change in her demeanor, but Luke was visibly worried. He could sense the turmoil within her.

It was only when the ship was in hyperspace that he sought her out to talk. He found her sitting on one of the crew bunks, her knees up near her chest, the pebble-pendant clutched in her fist. She didn't even look up when he entered the crew quarters and sat down beside her. He sat with her in silence for a few moments, knowing instinctively that her reunion had not gone well.

"What happened?" Her lips twitched at his soft question, but her eyes remained focused on something far away. It was another several quiet moments before she finally spoke.

"They're gone." Luke frowned, but then he picked up on the thread of grief that escaped her usually flawless mental shields. He recognized that pain instantly; it was the kind of sorrow that consumed a person when those who cared for them like family were stolen away without warning or mercy. He hesitated for a moment before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, absently grateful for the gesture.

"I'm sorry, Tamara." He didn't know what else to say. She knew he was acutely familiar with what she was going through. She could sense that, because of that, he felt that he should have some idea what to say to help ease the pain. He could do nothing but draw a blank. Athara, however, was not so speechless anymore.

"I want to do more than run shipments, Luke. I want to fight. I want the Empire to fall." Her sudden admission startled him, as did the fury in her voice. Luke pulled back slightly to get a better look at her face. Conviction had replaced the emotionless expression she had worn only a moment ago, though she continued to stare at nothing.

"I thought you wanted nothing to do with the politics of actually joining the Alliance." Athara shook her head slowly.

"Not any more. The Empire took away my only family. I want to fight." _I want to atone for the past_.

Luke continued to look over at her, concern written all over his features. Eventually though, he sighed, his grip around her shoulders tightening.

"I'll see what I can do when we get back to base." She finally looked at him, reaching up to take the hand that was resting on her shoulder. Her fury slowly began to ebb.

"Thank you, Luke." She leaned against him again, feeling the anguish begin to ease a bit for the first time since Kendra uttered those awful words. Calm began to return to her mind as she relaxed against Luke's comforting embrace. She finally had a true purpose again, and this time, it was her own.

She would have her vengeance.


	11. Chapter 10

Of course Hoth had to be cold.

Athara lowered the _Amaran_ _Flame_ through the atmosphere of the frozen planet, beginning to feel cold just at the sight of the unending blanket of snow and ice that covered the surface. She didn't like to be cold, especially when there was no chance of getting warm without layers upon layers of clothing or blankets. That was precisely the situation on Hoth. It was always cold; no warm sun, no warm shelters, only huge parkas that only kept their wearers tolerably less chilled than they would be without the thick garments. She swallowed a string of profanity that threatened to escape her lips as the atmosphere gave way to the barren wasteland that was the surface of the planet. Instead, she only allowed herself a resentful groan as her ship soared over the crags and valleys of ice, rock and snow.

After transmitting her code clearance and identification, she was permitted to land the red corvette in one of the recently completed landing bays. She was eager to get off the ship, but not so eager to be out in the frigid temperatures. Nevertheless need drove her.

Nearly a year had passed since she officially threw her support behind the Rebel Alliance and she had not shirked her new commitments in the slightest. In that year she had proven herself useful over and over again. As it happened, many of the skills that had made her an invaluable Imperial agent had made her equally invaluable to the Rebellion. She was an effective leader, was incredibly persuasive (thanks in part to her secret Force abilities), a good tactician and a relatively decent pilot. Plus, she had once been an Imperial agent and Commander herself.

Most Imperial Commanders followed procedure and standard manoeuvres to a fault and many had very distinctive ways of doing things. Having once been a part of that life, she had an intimate knowledge of how those commanders would respond in any given situation. There were even occasions when she was able to discern the particular Commanders the Alliance was facing off against just from their particular strategies. It allowed her to gain the upper hand on several occasions, much to the delight of the Rebel Leadership. Luckily, she had thus far kept her background wholly to herself, and had skillfully managed to avoid awkward questions about how she was able to engage the Imperials so effectively when she encountered them.

So, like Luke and Captain Solo, she rose quickly through the ranks within the Alliance until she was periodically commanding missions on her own. This particular mission to Rodia was one of many undertakings she had been assigned as the Alliance struggled to maintain their equipment. While not the most successful of missions, she had still managed to broker a small deal that would supply the Alliance with some decent tools and diagnostic equipment for many of the Fleet's ships. Still, she was not all that happy about the outcome, as the original prerogative of the mission had been to acquire some new ships.

Now she was preparing to disembark onto the most unappealing planet she could think of, especially because she was not overly fond of being cold. It was just her luck that the only planet they had found recently that was suitable for a secret base was an ice planet. Overall, it was not turning out to be her day. Shortly before she was set to depart Rodia for Hoth, one of the most intense feelings of foreboding she had yet experienced began to grow in the pit of her stomach.

She was still plagued by the fleeting, elusive visions that she had been having for years before the destruction of the Death Star. Only now they were increasingly pressing on her mind as she almost always woke from dreams or meditation with the intense anxiety of those visions lingering in her thoughts, despite being unable to remember a single coherent image or event. The presence that had originally made itself known through the visions had become a permanent fixture in her life, but she had no idea what its purpose was. It was connected to the visions, and it wanted her to understand something. Unfortunately, that something was even more elusive than the presence itself; and that was saying something.

Of one thing, and one thing only, she was absolutely certain; the visions centered on people she knew and knew well. Most prominent among them was Luke. Her Farmboy was central to whatever events her dreams alluded to, that much she had been able to discern. However, as she had hurtled toward Hoth she became increasingly convinced that something from those visions was coming to pass at that moment, and it scared her terribly as she was equally convinced that it was something bad and had something to do with Luke.

Part of her had looked on her new commitment to the Alliance as an opportunity to work more closely with Luke to work on his promising skills. The complete opposite seemed to happen though. Instead of being able to get away more frequently, she found that their sessions had become far less common than she hoped as the Leaders of the Alliance recognized the value of both Luke's skills and her own. As they crossed paths less often, Athara soon began to realize just how close she had become to the blue-eyed pilot in the short time she'd known him.

She missed their sessions.

At first she denied the attachment, fearing it was turning her soft; she had never needed attachments before. Besides, they were a potential liability. Her time with the Empire had taught her that. But as time passed and weeks turned into months, and her meetings with Luke began to increase again, her attitude began to shift. It still made her nervous though. Luke had become a very dear friend, but she worried about just where that friendship might lead.

There was a different dynamic to the bond growing between the two Force-users. She had become very good friends with many different people she had met since leaving the Empire and again since joining the Alliance; Reem, Madal, Solo and Chewie, Antilles, several of the other pilots and so on. But her relationship with Luke had always been a little different. She had initially attributed it to their shared connection to the Force and the shared secret of that connection, but recently she was beginning to think differently. It was that change more than anything else that she feared, so much so that she refused to acknowledge the possibility the first time it came to mind and every occasion after.

Regardless of whether or not she was avoiding some great truth about her evolving relationship with Skywalker, the anxiety that had been gnawing at her since she left Rodia refused to abate. And she knew it would not ease until she had assurances that Luke was safe.

For once, the comforting presence wasn't quite so comforting.

As soon as the _Flame_ was settled she was off the ship, leaving the rest of the landing cycle in the hands of the Rebel crew she had taken on since joining the Alliance. She was so anxious to find the source of her unease, she nearly forgot to don her thick parka over the high-necked burgundy top and cream jacket that had sufficed on board ship but was much too thin for Hoth. The first deck officer she saw upon reaching the main landing bay was subject to her anxious interrogation. She was normally quite calm and collected, keeping her emotions well in hand. The anxiety was having an adverse effect on her self-control, and that realization alone was further wearing at her patience. Thankfully, the officer knew what she wanted to know and apprised her of the situation.

It turned out that her fear had been wholly justified. Luke had been attacked by one of Hoth's more deadly indigenous creatures and had been in very bad shape when he was brought back to base. He would have died had it not been for Captain Solo's tenacity in finding him and keeping him alive despite the lethal temperatures of a Hoth night. As Athara listened she could feel the blood draining from her face, and no sooner had the deck officer finished talking then she was racing toward the medical centre.

It only took moments to traverse the base, but it felt like an age before she reached the medical centre. Slowing her pace to prevent being barred from the hospital area, she was directed to the room where Luke was under observation.

As she approached, the all too familiar sound of Han and the Princess bickering greeted her. Part of her wished they would just hurry up and confess that their feelings for each other went far deeper than either one wanted to admit to. It would be easier on everyone, she thought somewhat sardonically, not just on Han and Leia.

Athara liked Han. He had been a little abrasive at first, but as Athara worked closer with him, she came to realize that underneath the cocky pirate there was a deeply honour-driven man who was incredibly loyal once you earned his respect, and that he had a keen appreciation for a range of different talents. Now she counted him among one of her closest friends.

Leia, on the other hand, Athara had not grown close to. The Princess was wary about the former Sith apprentice but, luckily, had yet to figure out why. As a result, Athara steered clear of the Princess whenever possible to prevent such an epiphany that would destroy everything she had worked to build for herself. Also, she just couldn't stand the way Luke tended to get all sappy and sentimental when the former senator was around. Part of her knew it was jealousy, but she wasn't ready to admit to that yet as it would mean also admitting she had stronger feelings for Luke than she was ready to own herself.

Whether she admitted to being jealous of Luke's habit of fawning over Leia or not, Athara all but bristled when she walked into Luke's room at the precise moment that Leia stormed out. The Princess was oozing irritation while a glimmer of satisfaction reflected in her eyes as she passed the former Sith apprentice. Taken aback, Athara entered the room only to be met with an equally disgruntled Han, an amused Chewie and a delighted Luke. Irritation of her own began to grow as Luke leaned back against his pillows, a rather silly smile on his face. She almost didn't need to skim over his unshielded thoughts to see what had just happened.

She also had to vigorously suppress the sudden urge to chase down the Princess and deal with her in a decidedly unfriendly way, likely using the lightsaber hidden within the depths of her flight jacket.

Overhead, there was a call for headquarters personnel to report to the command centre. Han reluctantly turned, hesitating for a moment when he saw Athara to give her a brief 'welcome back' before all but storming out himself, Chewie close behind. Only once they were left alone was Athara able to focus on the young Jedi left in the room with her. The annoyance she felt dissipated almost immediately.

He had obviously undergone several intensive Bacta treatments, and had already gone through a great deal of healing. Yet it didn't diminish the evidence that he had been badly hurt. Before she could stop it, she felt her composure melt and distress spring to her features. The satisfied smirk had faded from Luke's face when Han and Chewie left the room, and he now looked at Athara with a slightly guilty expression.

"What were you thinking?" It was all Athara could do to keep her voice from shaking as she lowered herself onto the edge of the cot beside him. Luke reached over, tentatively taking her hand. Athara was tempted to pull away as a means of displaying her aggravation. Instead, she gently touched the rapidly healing wounds on his face with her other hand. The entire right side of his face had to have been all but crushed for this amount of swelling and bruising to be left after multiple Bacta treatments. He winced as her gentle fingers found a particularly tender spot. Her concerned frown deepened, causing Luke to sigh.

"It's okay, Tamara. I'm fine. Han found me, and the medical droids say I'll be as good as new in a day or so." Athara wasn't convinced, especially since the worry roiling about in her gut wasn't abating.

"You still could have been killed, Farmboy." Luke tried not to groan at the nickname she had been using since shortly after they met. Athara almost grinned at his chagrin.

"I'm fine. You shouldn't worry so much. Besides, Ben was watching over me." Athara started. She hadn't heard of anything like this before. The calming Force presence she felt from time to time sprang immediately to mind. She pushed the spontaneous thought away.

"Kenobi? You felt him?" Luke frowned absently as he thought for a moment.

"Yeah, I mean, I think so. I was in bad shape when he appeared to me."

"Appeared? You mean you actually saw him?" She couldn't keep the astonishment from her voice as she stared at the young Jedi. She had never heard of anything like that in her studies under Vader's tutelage. Luke nodded, still focusing on nothing.

"I'm not sure, really. I might have just hallucinated him, I suppose. But he told me to go to the Dagobah system. And that, well, it feels like the right thing to do." Athara frowned herself. That was an odd request. The former Sith apprentice struggled to recall anything she knew about the system. There wasn't much.

"There's nothing in that system, just a little, uninhabited planet. Why would he want you to go there?" Luke shrugged, finally turning his gaze to meet hers.

"Something about training with a Jedi there; his old Master." Athara's eyes widened as surprise surged through her.

"A Jedi, on Dagobah?" Luke nodded before suddenly sitting up straighter, having obviously just had an idea.

"You should come too! Think about it, a real, honest to goodness Jedi Master."

A brief sensation of fear and panic stabbed through her as she considered going with him to meet a true Jedi, but then excitement began to surface, drowning out the fear. A Jedi Master may have the answers she craved, especially about the soothing presence. Besides, the years hadn't dimmed her curiosity about Kenobi. Luke, despite having been a pupil of his for a time, didn't know all that much about the Jedi since he simply hadn't had enough time to get to know him.

If Kenobi was sending Luke to this Jedi, that meant there was a good chance that the Jedi had known Kenobi in life, especially if this Jedi had been Kenobi's Master.

"I'm still unhappy with you, but I do want to meet a real Jedi," she finally answered. Luke beamed at her.

The two of them continued to talk for several more minutes, with Athara briefly relating how her mission went and Luke telling her what he remembered of the ice creature's attack. He was impressed when she related how she had evaded the Imperial presence on Rodia, including a small skirmish the first day. She also related, with a hint of annoyance, how she had been forced to dodge one particular bounty hunter, an Ubese hunter named Boushh, for nearly the entire time she was on the planet. She was equally impressed when Luke told her about how he managed to escape the ice creature's cave by summoning his lightsaber using the Force. He had been having a great deal of trouble with some tasks, like using the Force to move objects, so this was a substantial breakthrough for him.

They talked until the Medical Droid requested she leave to allow the blue-eyed pilot to rest. Reluctant to go, she nevertheless submitted to the droid's insistence and left Luke to 2-1B's expert care. Unable to think of a reason to delay, she decided she should probably check in with the Command Centre and brief at least one of the Leaders on the limited success of her mission.

It took her several minutes to locate and brief the Commander on Duty, and when she found General Rieekan a few minutes later he was huddled around a screen with the Princess. As she approached, she heard Han's voice coming from the comlink. Coming up beside the General, he gave her a brief nod of acknowledgement before returning his focus to the images Solo was transmitting.

"I'm afraid there's not much left," came Han's voice as Athara looked over Rieekan's shoulder to get a glance at the images herself.

"What was it?" Unlike Leia, Athara didn't even need to ask, as she recognized the object right away, despite the graininess of the image. Han responded, a hint of his unease evident even through the comlink.

"Droid of some kind. I didn't hit it that hard. It must have had a self-destruct."

"It's an Imperial Probe Droid," Athara said softly. Rieekan and the Princess exchanged a concerned look. Han was the next to speak, disappointed resignation in his voice.

"Then it's a good bet the Empire knows we're here." Athara groaned. It had taken her, Han, Luke and most of Rogue Squadron ages to find this planet. Yay for another tedious search... if they managed to get away before the Empire destroyed them. Given that the droid had apparently already completed its transmission, it wasn't going to be long before the Imperial Fleet arrived. Rieekan let out a loaded sigh.

"We'd better begin the evacuations." He turned to the Princess. "This is not going to be easy." She nodded in agreement, laying her headset on the console in front of her before standing.

"I'll get started on organizing the transports. Hopefully we'll have enough. We have a lot of ships out of the system." Immediately the General and the Princess began to move off. A thought jumped to the forefront of Athara's mind, and she followed them, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"Take the _Flame_." The Princess and the General paused, turning to face her. The suspicious look that tended to appear on Leia's face when she was listening to Athara appeared, but the former Sith apprentice ignored it, turning to the General.

"Give me a snub fighter with hyperspace capabilities. My current crew can handle her without me and I'll leave L4 to help run the ship. You'll need all the space you can get, whether for personnel or cargo. I know it's not much, but it's one more ship." Rieekan pondered her proposition for a moment. Leia looked on the verge of rejecting the offer even as her logical side saw the value of the red corvette. Athara bristled at the look, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. "Besides, it's practically the Princess's ship already anyway." The look of confusion and shock on Leia's face removed the condescending expression completely, but the instant Athara felt the words leave her lips she cursed herself for being so impulsive. Leia frowned deeply, accusation glimmering in her brown eyes.

"What do you mean?" _Good job, Athara_. There was no more avoiding this. She now had to lie and make it convincing. Luckily, she'd had a vague story worked out for several years already in case the _Flame_ 's previous identity came to light.

"I salvaged her shortly after Alderaan was destroyed. She was free-floating in space with a timed system failure meant to overload the engine coils and destroy her. Unfortunately, the name _Tantive IV_ would have drawn a little too much attention since she was supposed to have been blown to pieces, so I had to rename her…and give her some upgrades." The surprise had returned to Leia's face, but the vulnerability that also appeared startled the young captain. She hadn't expected that. Oh well, at least the survival of the Alderaanian ship had distracted the Princess from the weakness of the salvaging story. Rieekan looked equally surprised, but not so much so that he was speechless.

"Well, then technically the ship is yours, Captain. Galactic Salvage Laws dictate it so." Athara shrugged. She was suddenly eager to get away from the Princess as a strange light was beginning to surface in her eyes.

"Think of it as a friendly donation."

"That's very generous of you, Captain. You'll have your fighter." Athara forced a gracious smile onto her face, hiding the unease that Leia's considering expression was triggering. Oh boy, had she just messed up.

Not a moment too soon, other matters became pressing and Leia and the General were drawn away. Holding in a faint sigh of relief, Athara turned and retreated to the _Flame_.

Nearly the entire time she was onboard the blockade runner she was silently cursing her impulsive comment. It was only when she relayed the news to her co-pilot Grobner that the internal string of profanity ceased. He was taken aback at first, but the idea of being in solely charge of the _Flame_ was exciting to the Rebel. She called her two astrodroids to follow her as she went to collect her few possessions from her quarters.

She left specific instruction for L4 to relay where the original décor and remaining vestiges from the _Tantive IV_ were being stored to the Princess, as well as providing a recording giving Madal permission to allow the Princess to collect the items if she wished. After a moment of further thought, she renewed the protocol in both the droids that ensured that if anyone questioned them too much or tried to download information about who she was or where they had come from, their memory systems would automatically be wiped. She sincerely hoped that such a protocol would never be necessary as she had grown fond of the personalities the little droids were developing. But it wasn't a risk she could take, either.

With her small bag of possessions over her shoulder, she departed the ship, turning to look back one last time as she left another chapter of her life behind. A worried warble came from the droid beside her. Forcing another smile to her face, she laid a hand on his green dome.

"Well, N3, let's see what ship Rieekan had found for us."


	12. Chapter 11

It was several deck officers later before she was able to track down the X-Wing she had been given. It wasn't much to look at, but then, very few of the Alliance ships were in prime condition. Still, it would do. After instructing N3 to get aboard and run any diagnostics he deemed necessary, she left the little droid to his own devices.

Around her, the base was buzzing with activity. Everywhere Rebels were packing up what they could and preparing for the evacuation signal to be given. Pilots were scrambling to reach their fighters or their speeders. Captains and deck officers were relaying orders and instruction while transports were being loaded everywhere she looked. Faces flew past, and though she recognized many, she didn't see the ones she wanted to see most.

Finally she managed to find the _Falcon_ in the maze that made up Echo Base. As usual, Han and Chewie were working away at the junky-looking ship. Han was up on top of the _Falcon_ , while his Wookiee Co-pilot was just barely visible in the cockpit. The two of them were calling back and forth, trading instructions, suggestions and profanity intermittently while they each struggled to restore and repair the one of the variety of systems on the _Falcon_ with a habit of acting up. Athara shook her head with faint exasperation, a small grin coming to her face as Han began to yell and curse as a burst of smoke billowed up from the open panel he was standing over. Chewie, meanwhile, was wailing and snarling his own curses, though Athara, with her limited understanding of Shyriiwook, was sure they weren't all directed at the temperamental freighter.

"Having problems, Han?" She called up to him. He all but snarled at her himself, causing her to laugh. After a moment Han took a break from whatever it was that he was fighting with, settling on the edge of the _Falcon_.

"So, how is Rodia this time of year?" Athara made a face.

"Warmer than here, especially with Boushh trailing me the whole time."

"He the one we ran into on Ord Mandel?" Athara rolled her eyes.

"One of them. I'm pretty sure he knows we work together, but I think he might actually have been after me this time, instead of you. He was awfully interested in trying to talk, though, which was—different. So, come to think of it, I think he's still after you." This time it was Han who grimaced.

"Sorry 'bout that. I think I pissed him off and made it personal last we saw him." Athara wrinkled her nose at the comment. Boushh was competent enough at his—her? It was hard to tell with Ubese—chosen profession and, despite being a bit bumbling compared to others like Fett, Bossk or Dengar, was still dangerous. While it was better to have him on your tail than one of the big Hunters, he was still not a good one to have hunting you...especially not for fun. And he seemed to have it out for Han and, by extension, the rest of them.

"Pray he hasn't, Han." He shrugged, but Athara wasn't kidding around. "I'm serious. There is nothing worse than bounty hunters with personal vendettas." Han made a dismissive gesture, causing the former Sith apprentice to frown.

"Well then, maybe he just likes us," his tone was just as nonchalant as the gesture. Athara grimaced.

"I hope not. As if I don't already have enough things to worry about."

"Come on, Tamara, relax a bit. Loosen up." She shot him a skeptical look.

"I could say the same to you." Han turned, poking at a bit of exposed something or other before responding, his crooked smile securely in place.

"Okay, I'll grant you that. It's a little hard to take a day when the Imperial Fleet is breathing down our necks." This time she managed to restrain herself from rolling her eyes, planting her hands on her hips instead.

"When are they not breathing down our necks?"

"Ah, well, I suppose it wouldn't be any fun otherwise, would it?" Shaking her head at his indomitable cockiness, she waved at Chewie in the cockpit before leaving the two to keep working away at their ship.

She began to head for the medical centre to see if Luke had been released yet when the warning alarms began to blare in earnest, signalling that the Rebels had run out of time.

The Imperial Fleet had arrived.

Breaking into a light jog, she reached the medical centre only to find that the sandy-haired rebel had already been released and was set to lead Rogue group against the oncoming Imperial ground troops, if they hadn't left already. Just as quickly as she had reached the hospital unit she departed, anxious to find Luke.

She was stopped dead in her tracks though when she felt a familiar presence probing the Base through the Force. Clamping down on her mental shields, Athara leaned against the icy wall of the corridor, waiting until the sensation passed. This was bad. Vader was out to get Luke; of that she was certain. If the bounties he'd put out on her Farmboy hadn't made that clear, she simply couldn't escape the feeling. She wasn't prepared to let her Master have him, no matter the loyalty she still felt toward the Dark Lord. She was finding herself increasingly torn between her past and what she was now devoted to.

As Vader continued to probe the base, Athara stretched out with her feelings to look for Luke. It took several moments to locate him, only to find his mind virtually unprotected as he lead Rogue Group out against the AT-AT's that were slowly but surely ambling toward the Base. Being so far away, she wouldn't be able to protect Luke and herself at the same time if she were to shield his Force signature; she wasn't quite strong enough for that. Making a quick decision, she put her energy into shielding not just his mind but also his presence from the Dark Lord of the Sith. Every logical part of her screamed to protect her own mind first, but her feelings told her it was the right thing to do. She still couldn't shake the feeling that her Farmboy had an important role still to play.

Almost the instant her own mental shielding went down, Vader had sensed her. The flare of surprise and anger that came at her through the Force from her Master startled Athara. Not because he was angry, but because she could sense it so intensely. It was unlike Vader to allow his feelings to be broadcast in such a manner. He felt betrayed, and she couldn't really blame him; but the intensity of the betrayal hit her like a punch in the gut. He was hurting, badly.

She needed to leave, and she needed to get Luke out of here. If a Jedi Master had hidden away on Dagobah for all these years, then that was the place to go. There had to be some quality to the planet that had effectively hidden the Jedi, and that same quality would help protect Luke until he was ready to face his destiny. Pulling herself back to the corridor she was standing in, she took another second to get her bearings before continuing toward the main hangar bay.

It felt like only seconds had passed, but in reality, long minutes had gone by. Around her the base was already showing signs of severe damage, with sections of ceiling jostled loose by turbolaser fire and wires flailing and sparking as the base trembled under the relentless impacts. Remaining personnel were running every which way in borderline panic and a voice called out over the base Comm-system whenever another set of ships made it safely away. Periodically the ground vibrated when the Alliance's ion cannon let loose its own deadly barrage against the Star Destroyers that were likely blockading the planet. By now they would have effectively cut off the direct routes to safe hyperspace lanes out of the system; that's what she would've done, and that's what she knew the Fleet Admiral was likely to do.

By the time she made it through the maze of corridors and collapsing tunnels, huge sections of the base were in serious danger of collapse. It had been several minutes since a massive explosion had signaled the Imperial walkers' success at destroying the main shield generators. The Base was failing. Most of the major transports had gone, and the remaining ground crews were making a dash for the last ships.

Overhead, the final evacuation code signal had been given ages ago and the Comm-system had been relaying nothing but static for several minutes. The last thing that had been said was that the Imperial troops were now inside the base.

She was running out of time.

As she passed one of the last sets of hangars, she noticed with a twinge of relief that the _Flame_ was long gone. The same couldn't be said for the _Falcon_ though.

As she got closer to the hangar where the older freighter sat, she could hear blasterfire over the sounds of the main engines struggling to start up. She couldn't think about it long, though, as a blasterbolt struck the wall not far from her left shoulder.

Whirling around, she caught sight of a handful of Snowtroopers barrelling toward her as they raised their weapons to fire. Unfortunately, thanks to the heavy parka she needed to wear on the ice planet, Kenobi's lightsaber was out of reach. Cursing at the crude weapon, she was forced to rely on the blaster she carried on her hip. Usually just for display—after all, what pirate or smuggler didn't have a blaster—she was nevertheless sufficiently trained with the weapon to make quick work of the Snowtroopers, no matter how uncivilized it seemed.

It took several precious moments to dispatch the troopers, but as the blasterfire ceased, she heard the _Falcon_ 's primary engines roar to life. Sure that there were no more Imperials coming up behind her, she did a quick check that her mental shields around Luke were still intact before continuing on at a run towards the _Falcon_ 's hangar.

Her heart in her throat, she reached the hangar just as the freighter lifted away, leaving behind the charred remnants of a laser cannon and several Snowtroopers. Lifting a hand to shield herself from another shower of ice shards and snow, she almost didn't see Vader turn from his survey of the newly vacated hangar.

She froze as the Sith's gaze fell on her where she stood in the crumbling corridor. A long moment passed without a word, but the emotions roiling around her Master through the Force said enough. He was intensely angry. Instinctively, she backed away, fear growing in the pit of her stomach. Never before had this much of his anger been directed toward her.

He followed her into the corridor, a towering column of black amid the stark white of the icy base.

"You have not followed my instruction, my young apprentice." Below his anger she sensed a hint of the betrayal and anguish she had felt earlier. Then the rage within her began to build of its own accord. It had been three years since she had stood face to face or even spoken with her Master. A lot had changed since then, and different things were important now.

"Well, I haven't been captured, have I?" A flash of annoyance came from the Sith Lord. "Besides, where better to hide from the Emperor than amid the only force to remain hidden from him, or to oppose him." She didn't bother to mask the bitterness from her voice.

"So you have turned against me." Athara lowered her gaze at his deceptively calm and cold tone, letting out a pained sigh. She knew that tone; it was far worse than when he yelled. In many ways she had; she had thrown in her lot with those who fought against Vader, with his enemies. But yet, she had never had any desire fight him. She steeled her nerve. She may have no reason to fight her Master, but his Master....the faces of her adoptive family floated to the forefront of her mind, stoking the anger beginning to build there. The ambiguous presence suddenly arrived, its concern and plea for caution obvious. She paid it little mind.

"No. But I cannot say that I have retained the same loyalty to Palpatine as I have to you." She voice was soft, but the sentiment behind it was powerful. Vader stared at her silently as she spoke, now shielding his feelings as fully as his expressionless mask hid his face. "Why must you follow him? I know you don't—" Athara's eyes widened as her windpipe was suddenly closed off by the invisible grip she had seen employed more times than she could count. She had never considered the need to protect herself against such an attack, and so was distressingly unprepared. Vader continued to stare out at her from behind the fathomless eye sockets of his mask as his leather-clad fingers tightened, controlling the phantom grasp at her throat.

"I have no choice but to follow, my very young apprentice. I must obey my Master." She could feel an almost primeval panic begin to grow within her as her lungs began to scream for oxygen.

Struggling to calm her mind, she tried desperately to counter his attack even as her hands instinctively went to her throat. It was pointless; he was far stronger than she was.

She knew what she had done to him, and what he was feeling in response to that betrayal, but she could not quite believe what he was doing now. She was his apprentice. He had practically raised her. How could he even think of doing this? Fear…his fear and anger had to be clouding his judgment. There was no other explanation.

Desperate, she lashed out through the Force, trying to connect with him, to prove her loyalty by revealing her feelings to him directly. She trusted him; she had always trusted him to protect her—and now he was betraying her as he believed she had betrayed him. She needed to break through the rage that clouded his logic. As she let those feelings surge to the surface from where she had kept them buried, her eyes never left his mask.

She could feel the clash of her frantic thoughts against his dark ones, but they seemed to have little effect, and the pressure on her windpipe only seemed to increase. She was on the verge of losing consciousness.

Guilt and grief suddenly bloomed within him and before she could process the sudden change he had released her. Falling to the floor she gasped, coughing as air once again flooded into her lungs. After a moment, she looked up at him.

He hadn't moved, and his eyes had never left her. She tried to speak, but her voice was little more than a gasp.

"Why?" There were so many questions tied up in that one little word; why must you follow the Emperor? Why does he hold such power over you? Why are you trapped? Why would you think I had betrayed you? Why did you try to kill me?

Why did you let me go?

Though he hadn't moved a muscle, Vader suddenly carried a look of defeat and despair. It confused and disturbed the former Sith apprentice greatly. Was this her answer? Was this why Vader was what he was? Was this what drove him to become one of the most feared figures in the galaxy? He had said once that the Emperor meant to break him using her death.

Now she was beginning to wonder if he had been broken long ago.

But before anything else could be said, the ground shuddered once again as another series of turbolaser blasts impacted on the surface. Blocks of ice and snow began to rain down from the ceiling as it threatened to cave in on top of them both. Looking up, Athara scrambled to her feet, diving out of the way as the roof began to collapse into the corridor between her and Vader. Through the cloud of snow and ice, Athara could just barely make out Vader throwing up his arms to shield himself as he too backed away from the debris.

For a long moment she just stood there as the cloud that hung in the air settled around her. She was stunned by Vader's behaviour, first in nearly choking her to death and next in letting her go. There were far too many questions that lingered in the cool hallway, but there was now a wall of ice and snow and other debris between her and her Master.

Could she even still call him that?

However, knowing that there was nothing that could be done about any of it now, she pulled herself away from the blocked section of the base, forcing the troubling questions from her mind. She raced down the corridor toward her fighter, all but blind to the crumbling corridors and mounds of snow.

Luckily she was close to her destination, and in very little time she had reached her fighter. Thankfully, it was in one of the few sections of the base that had yet to be invaded by the encroaching Imperials. Most of the other fighters and ships were long gone, but the stragglers were lifting off or in the process of doing so. Though still shaky and troubled from her encounter with Vader, she reached out, searching for Luke. He was already gone, racing away from Hoth in his own X-wing.

Letting out a relieved sigh, she scrambled up the ladder into her own fighter, checking with N3 to make sure he was settled in. Hearing his reassuring warble she grabbed the standard-issue flightsuit lying in the cockpit and shrugged into it as fast as she could, pitching the heavy parka from the side of her fighter once she had retrieved Kenobi's lightsaber. She had no room for the blasted garment. Besides, she was never coming back to Hoth, that was for sure.

Already she could hear the blasts of the troopers struggling to get through the blocked tunnels that lead to the bay. Settling into the cockpit she hit the control to seal the canopy and activated the main consoles before slipping on the helmet left for her. Thankfully, as N3 had seen her coming he'd had the good sense to fire up the converters and prepare for takeoff. Another moment and they were ready.

And not a moment too soon. As the repulsorlifts kicked in and the ship began its ascent into the air, she caught a glimpse of Snowtroopers flooding out into the bay, Vader close behind. An involuntary shudder coursed through her as she felt her Master reach out to her through the Force. But the rage she'd felt earlier was absent, replaced with a deep, bitter self-loathing, regret, and, to her surprise, even a trace of concern. He was doing nothing but confusing her and sending her through her own emotional acrobatics. Frankly, it was giving her a headache.

She shook her head as she angled the X-wing toward space, but she was unable to clear her thoughts. She could barely think straight. At once the comforting presence was there, helping to soothe her frazzled nerves through the Force. It was enough to allow her to bring her thoughts back under control. She was growing lax with her exercises and meditations.

Years earlier, something like this would've never happened, she never would've allowed her thoughts to become so uncontrolled. Then again, she had been trained to harness feelings like fear and anger, and she had recently been incredibly hesitant to do so. Not only was she concerned that her use of the Dark Side would draw unwelcome attention, but she was beginning to find the practice unsatisfying and even distasteful. But the Dark Side of the Force was all she really knew. Her Master had discouraged any attempts she had made to learn lighter practices, and she'd had little success trying to further her knowledge on her own.

Maybe there was more to be gained from visiting the mysterious Jedi on Dagobah than she had initially considered. She had already tentatively promised Luke she would join him there, but now she made the decision with conviction.

Before she was even out of the atmosphere she was punching in a course that would ultimately bring her to the planet Dagobah.

She needed answers, and she needed them badly. But more so, she needed guidance. Over the last year she had seriously begun to question everything she knew, and of one thing she had become quite certain; she had no desire to be a Sith, especially if becoming a Sith would lead her down a path that would damage her as it had Vader.

This mysterious Jedi seemed, at the moment, to be her best chance of finding what she needed, and she needed guidance.

Hopefully this wasn't a wild bantha chase...


	13. Chapter 12

Hyperspace was cold and dull in the little ship, and Athara was hard pressed to keep her emotions in check. There was nothing at all to distract her, leaving far too much time to dwell on things she had no desire to think about. It meant clearing her mind was far easier said than done, and there was little else to do. She didn't even want to attempt to sort through her muddled thoughts, and musing about Vader's recent behaviour didn't seem any more appealing.

Instead, she tried to meditate.

That was only marginally more successful, and that was only because the goal was to rest and think of nothing at all but her connection to the Force.

Thankfully, Dagobah was close to Hoth, and even with the painfully slow hyperdrive on her fighter and the multiple micro-jumps to prevent being followed, it was not a long trip. By the time she emerged from her fitful meditation she had essentially arrived.

The scant information she had remembered about the little planet had been entirely correct; there was not much there. It was completely covered in forest, and the sensors picked up nothing but life-form readings. There was no sign of civilization, technology or anything of the sort. Athara sighed, trying to push aside her displeasure. If there really was a Jedi hiding down there, he was certainly brave; there was nothing in the galaxy that could convince her to spend the rest of her life on a planet like Dagobah.

After her initial scans were completed, she turned to locating Luke. She was sure he had to be here. When she reached out through the Force, trying to probe the surface of the planet, she was thwarted by the sheer magnitude of life forms and Force anomalies. It was unhelpful to say the least for finding Luke, but she now understood why the mysterious Jedi chose the little planet.

Instead, she began a sensor sweep searching for the beacon built into the systems of Luke's X-Wing. It was a long shot, especially if Luke hadn't activated it. She had told him she would meet him on Dagobah, but that was no guarantee that he had remembered the beacon. Thankfully, after several long, tense minutes, she picked up the faint signal coming from his ship.

It was in a swamp. Then again, it looked like the entire planet was one, big swamp.

She was having terrible luck with planets.

First Hoth, then Dagobah...Athara groaned before changing her heading and preparing for a slow descent. There was something odd about the atmosphere that her secondary scans had picked up, so she instructed N3 to keep a close eye on the ship's systems as they approached the planet's surface.

There were a few tense moments before they caught sight of the tree canopy through the planet's thick cloud cover, an odd electromagnetic property of the atmosphere briefly threatening to scramble her navigational and flight systems. It was another few minutes until Athara spotted Luke's ship and several more before she found a suitable spot to land. She suppressed another groan when she noticed where Luke's fighter had touched down…crashed, more like, considering the splintered and snapped foliage beyond it.

After her own fighter was settled securely on—relatively—dry land, she took a moment before popping the canopy to regain her bearings. As doubt began to niggle away in the back of her mind, she stood, stretching sore muscles before shucking the orange flight suit she'd donned over her clothes and leaping lightly down from the cockpit.

One nice thing about the lack of civilization and the natural 'shielding' effect of so much life was that there was no need to hide her abilities here. Letting out a satisfied sigh, she reached out, touching and exploring her immediate surroundings through the Force before turning and levitating N3 down from on top of the ship. It felt good to use the Force openly again.

Satisfied for the moment, she looked around, anxious to find Luke on the murky planet. She turned to N3, grimacing as rain began to seep through the foliage overhead.

"Can you use your sensors? Pick up any electronic signals? Luke likely brought Artoo with him, so you should be able to pick him up if he's nearby." The green droid whistled cheerfully before extending his sensor array. After a few moments, he whirred contentedly, letting out a shrill barrage of excited whistles as he began to pick his way through the dense undergrowth.

Several minutes after they began their trek into the forested swamp, Athara heard a faint answering whistle from the depths of the murk ahead. A smile coming to her face, she pushed forward, passing N3 to take the lead. Probing the path she made her way to another small clearing amidst the pale, twisted trees where a small camp had been set up.

No one was there though. A flash of fear shot through Athara as she walked into the camp. Even during her short trek through the forest, she had seen, and felt, a slew of dangers lurking in the gloom. Looking around, she saw evidence that someone had indeed been there, but there was no sign of a struggle. Wherever Luke and Artoo had gone, it had likely been voluntary.

Seeing that portions of the camp were still packed away in their travelling crates, she decided to finish setting up. The rain had eased a little, without completely going away, so it didn't take long. Plus, much of the Rebellion's equipment for making temporary shelters was ridiculously easy to manage. Within an hour, she had the camp set to rights, with a tent and cot set up and the rest of the supplies neatly put away. Having little else to, she decided to explore the perimeter of the clearing, thinking she might be able to figure out which direction Luke had gone off in.

Circling the camp, she grimaced as the rain once again grew to a downpour, washing away any evidence she could've found with her limited tracking skills. Already sick of the torrential rain, she saw little other recourse but to retreat into the tent she had set up in the middle of the camp.

A little frustrated by the way her arrival had gone so far, she lowered herself onto the cot. Shrugging out of her pale jacket, already sodden and graying thanks to the murk of Dagobah, she hung it from one of the tent supports before pulling off her soaked boots. Then, pulling her legs under her, she settled onto the cot, musing over whether or not to try and meditate. Letting out a long breath, she absently hoped that Luke would be back soon before closing her eyes.

Meditation was a moot point though, as she couldn't settle enough to sink into the trance necessary for it to work. Her mind was far too muddled at the moment. Worry and concern over Luke's absence combined with curiosity and anxiety over meeting a true Jedi was enough to make her stomach churn. Add the baffling encounter with Vader to that and stir in the troubling thoughts she had been fighting for years over the presence, the visions, her feelings for Luke and her past? It was enough to give her a throbbing headache.

Vader was after Luke, and Athara had no intention of letting the two of them meet any time soon. Just thinking about it made her shudder. The Emperor would take her Farmboy and either kill him or twist him into a mutilated shadow of the kind-hearted young pilot she cared about. She had been a shadow, and in many ways still was, and it was not a life she could see Luke surviving. Everything in her rebelled against the very thought. Her feelings told her she needed to protect the blue-eyed Rebel at all costs.

Even if it meant defying her Master.

Despite the attachment she still felt toward the Sith Lord, his behaviour toward her on Hoth had fractured the trust she had continued to have in him. Part of him was broken; she could see that now. Growing up, she had always had the utmost faith in him. He had always looked after her, and unfailingly saw to it that her best interests were kept. He had been a hard taskmaster, she hadn't exaggerated to Luke about that, but he had always been fair. He never gave her an exercise or a task that she couldn't handle. Sure, many of those assignments had pushed her to her limits, but she saw now that they had helped her grow and develop her skills, with and without the Force. She had always sensed the Darkness in him; obviously, as he often encouraged her to embrace her own Darkness to better harness the power of the Dark Side. She had always known about his volatility and his propensity to overreact, but she had never considered that his instability would ever be turned on her. It rattled some of the truths she had held close her entire life.

Vader had promised her when she was a child, new to his care, that he would always protect her and keep her safe, and she had trusted him with all her heart. It had never occurred to her then or as she grew up that the vow, uncharacteristic as it may have seemed, had been anything but genuine.

Now she was beginning to doubt, not in his sincerity, but in his control.

He had tried to kill her after all.

But why had he stopped? She couldn't get the feel of his grief and guilt out of her head. His emotions as he released her had flooded through the link she had tried to create. Had his rage clouded his judgment enough that he had momentarily forgotten how important she was to him, only for common sense and memory to break through as his anger dimmed? That didn't make sense either. Whenever she had seen him lose it like that in the past, even after the subject of his anger was disposed of, it would take him ages for his temper to cool enough for most rational thought to return. But if not that, then what?

Feeling restless, she emerged from her musings enough to realize that the rain had pretty much stopped for the moment. Suddenly claustrophobic, she pulled on her boots, ducking out of the tent after grabbing her jacket. Waving N3 off, she headed off into the jungle, eager to stretch her legs.

Letting the Force guide her, she meandered through the jungle, allowing her mind to wander until it settled on thoughts about the mysterious Jedi she and Luke had come to see.

Why a Jedi would _want_ to settle on such an uncomfortably damp and grimy planet was beyond her, but she was easily able to recognize the reasoning. In the shadowy crevices and hollows that dotted the swampy terrain there were dozens upon dozens of dense natural Force pockets, Dark and Light alike. She could barely probe more than a few meters ahead thanks to the profusion of life and the bizarre Force pockets, so she could see how a Jedi, even a very powerful one, would be able to disappear on Dagobah. Even someone as powerful as Vader or the Emperor would have trouble sensing another Force-sensitive on the surface of this planet.

Which was probably why this Jedi was still alive.

That didn't make it any more pleasant to trudge through the forest though.

When she was young, Vader would still periodically be called on to hunt down the odd surviving Jedi. When she first questioned him, she remembered being told that the Jedi were traitors, and if they had only accepted the corruption of the Republic and pledged their loyalty to the Empire, he wouldn't have had to destroy them. Even then, Athara had sensed the falseness of his statement, but he had believed it; the Emperor had insisted to his apprentice that it was the truth, and Vader had no reason to doubt it—yet. As she got older, she could remember him leaving her in their shared apartments on Coruscant or on board his current Star Destroyer so that he could go after rumours of surviving Jedi. Even when she was old enough to accompany him, he always went alone, and he never dispatched her to take care of Force-sensitives that came to his, or the Emperor's, attention. Every time she would ask why, and every time he would refuse to answer beyond the familiar condemnation of the Jedi's betrayal and that it was his duty to see that justice was served. However, as time passed, she could faintly sense that his conviction was beginning to waver.

Her thoughts ground to a halt as she climbed over a particularly gnarled tree root.

There was a crude hut built into the base of a large tree up ahead.

And all but crawling out of the small door was Luke.

A smile came to her face as he straightened, but it was a moment before he noticed her. His attention was on a small, gnome-like figure that followed him out into the humid air. It was the little green creature that noticed her first, raising his ancient gaze to meet hers, the wisdom in those brown eyes all but wiping the grin off her face. She didn't even need to use the Force to confirm that he was the Jedi Master, and that he was very powerful; he was far more powerful than she had anticipated.

A frown came to Luke's face as his little companion's attention was drawn elsewhere before he too looked in Athara's direction.

"Tamara! You made it!" A huge smile spread across his face when he noticed her, an in an instant he was across the small lake and clearing and scooping her up into a tight hug. Stunned, Athara tensed as his arms encircled her waist before relaxing, her own arms curling around him. It felt right, holding him like this. Anxiety bled from her mind as he swung her around, lifting her from the root she had been on so that she stood next to him.

"Of course I did. You didn't think I'd pass up an opportunity to meet a real-life Jedi, did you?" Her gaze shifted to focus on the Jedi. Her buoyant mood dimmed a bit at the frown that had bloomed on the wrinkled face. Luke either didn't notice or didn't really pay it any mind. Pulling back, she gave the Farmboy a tense smile as she before taking a step away from him and turning to face the Jedi Master.

She stood there for a moment, considering the Jedi as she was sure he was surveying her. She didn't think he was pleased with what he saw...or what he felt. There was something curious in his large eyes, a conclusion forming that Athara couldn't quite decode. Stiffly, she made a respectful bow to the small, green figure, not exactly sure where the impulse came from. As she straightened, a peculiar light came to the Jedi's eyes.

"Master Jedi." Athara was the first to speak, but her words earned a confused, and rather undignified, sound from Luke.

"You know who he is?" He had come to stand beside her, his confused glance shifting from the Jedi to Athara and back again. Athara's gaze never left the Jedi.

"No, but it's rather obvious what he is." The Jedi pursed his wrinkled lips, his eyes narrowing.

"What you are, as well, obvious it is," he added quietly, his odd way of speaking throwing her for a moment. Athara couldn't help but bristle at the tone, though, biting back a sharp retort. Luke frowned, an almost petulant cast to his features as he muttered something about how it was an easy mistake to make. Fighting back a grin, Athara finally looked away from the Jedi.

"You all right, Farmboy? I saw your ship." Luke blushed deeply.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I didn't realize the atmosphere would be quite so..." He trailed off, when he saw the exasperated look on Athara's face.

"Didn't you bother to check your instruments before heading for the surface?" His answer was little more than an excuse made up of incomprehensible muttering, but she managed to get the gist of it. She sighed, fighting a somewhat indulgent smile that tried to surface. He was far too reckless and eager to get to where he was going, sometimes forgetting steps along the way. She turned back to the Jedi, changing the subject.

"So this is the Jedi Kenobi told you about." Luke nodded, his flush fading.

"Yeah, this is Master Yoda. He has agreed to train me." There was something in Luke's tone that caused Athara to frown. She looked back to Luke.

"Did it really take that much effort to convince him?" she asked lightly. The young Rebel's expression hardened a bit before taking on a rather self-conscious, and even embarrassed, cast. She hadn't been entirely serious when she said it, but she saw that she had inadvertently stumbled onto something Luke was still smarting from.

"Ben had to help," he finally said quietly. Athara's frown deepened. The irritation that had begun to simmer since she first noticed the wizened old Jedi judging her and Luke's hug grew, threatening to swell to anger.

"I'm astonished that he had to be convinced at all." There was a hardness in her voice that startled Luke. She realized almost immediately that he had never been around her when she was experiencing decidedly darker mood swings. The idea that the little Jedi had considered turning Luke away at all rubbed her the wrong way, sparking her temper. Luke was too important to remain as untrained as he was; even she knew that. She turned back to Yoda.

She was a little confused at the distant look in his eyes, his ears twitching slightly as if he was listening to something. A resigned, but decidedly unhappy expression settled on his face as he once again turned his attention to the former Sith apprentice and the—hopefully—future Jedi.

"Train the boy, I will. But of your presence, great concerns I have." Defiance rose up in Athara, fuelling her irritation. It took a great deal of effort to restrain the feeling, but whether she liked it or not, she had come for help too. She needed to play nice.

But she couldn't quite manage it right at that moment.

"I'm not leaving, if that's what you're getting at." The Jedi frowned again as she spoke, her chin lifting in challenge, "I am just as invested in his training as you or Kenobi. Beside, there are things I wish to learn as well." A flicker of surprise flashed in those large brown eyes. A small part of Athara was pleased. The surprise was gone in an instant though, replaced by a deeply troubled look.

"Once embraced, impossible to escape the Dark Side is," he said quietly, a deep sadness in his voice. Now it was Athara who was startled. Fear crept into her mind, only to be instantly met with a surge of anger.

"You don't know that." There was a desperate edge to her voice, something that visibly took the diminutive Jedi by surprise. Luke also looked surprised, but no one was more taken aback than Athara herself.

She hadn't allowed herself to think on it before, but she was almost desperate to free herself of the Dark Side. Suddenly mortified, she turned and all but ran from the clearing, retreating first to the camp and then to her ship when she couldn't quite get herself to calm down. For a split-second upon reaching her fighter, she almost considered getting in and lifting off.

Letting loose a heavy sigh, she settled for working off her anxious energy by unloading her own set of supplies, by hand, from the fighter and lugging them to Luke's camp. She couldn't help but think that the mysterious presence could show up at any time.

She had her own shelter half erected by the time Luke and Artoo returned to the camp themselves. N3 gleefully greeted the other droid and the two of them began to chat quietly in their beeping, whistling language. Luke hesitantly approached the former Imperial agent.

She pointedly ignored the concerned look on Luke's face.

It was a long, uncomfortable silence. Eventually, Luke overcame his reluctance to interfere, and helped Athara finish pitching her own tent. Then, as she put the last finishing touches on her own shelter, Luke retrieved the ration boxes and sat down, holding one out to Athara in a silent offer to join him.

Feeling exhausted, both physically and emotionally, Athara only hesitated for a moment before settling down beside him, taking the food he offered.

They ate in silence for several minutes.

"He's worried I'm too reckless, too focused on other things instead of on becoming a Jedi," Luke looked up at Athara, his shaken confidence evident in his voice. Athara leaned against him, trying to give him a reassuring smile. It didn't work as well as she hoped.

"Well, he is right, Luke. You are reckless. But you weren't raised to this. Everything about the Force is new to you. I'd have thought he would’ve taken that into account." Luke shrugged, looking a bit disheartened.

"He did. He thinks I'm too old to train." Athara made a rather ungracious noise, nearly earning a smile from Luke before he changed the subject.

"What did he mean? What he said to you about the Dark Side?" Athara stiffened. She really didn't want to get into that yet. She didn't answer for a long time, mulling over the words that were eating away at her before answering as honestly as she could.

"I'm not entirely sure." Luke, sensing the turmoil in his companion, wrapped an arm around her. Athara couldn't help but appreciate the gesture, pressing closer into the embrace. "But I think it means he's not really interested in training me either." She could practically feel Luke get indignant.

"That's not fair. You're Force-sensitive too, and you want to see the Emperor defeated as much as anyone." She sighed, wondering if she should've kept her mouth shut.

"It's alright, Luke," she stood, pulling away from Luke before turning to face him, hiding her conflicting feelings behind the mask she hadn't felt truly compelled to wear since her break from the Empire. "Don't worry about me. He's going to train you, that's what's important." Luke all but leapt to his feet, disbelief written on his features.

"What's that supposed to mean? If it hadn't been for your tutoring, I might not even be here. You're important too!" He blushed fiercely as his last words escaped his lips. Athara felt her own cheeks heat at the obvious sentiment behind his statement. He didn't lower his gaze though, boldly meeting her eyes.

She lowered her gaze first.

"Forget I said anything," she whispered sullenly before disappearing into her tent. Outside, she heard Luke throw down his ration box in frustration. He was just trying to help and she knew that, but he didn't understand that he was the key, that it was his destiny to make things right. Compared to him, she wasn't important; a shadow only, while he was the light. As she paced the limited length of her tent, she could hear Luke getting ready to bunk down for the night.

She could feel his frustration at Yoda, at her and at himself coming off of him in waves. He had missed an opportunity; at least, that's what Athara suspected he thought judging by the particular cast of his emotions. She wrapped her arms around herself, all but squeezing the air out of her lungs, she was hugging herself so tightly.

He hadn't missed a chance. She had fiercely denied him the opportunity. She couldn't afford to let their attachment develop any more. She couldn't be sure exactly what he felt for her, though she could make a pretty good guess, but she knew just what she felt. In that moment before she ran to her tent, she had felt the weight of her feelings for him descend on her.

She was falling in love with Luke.

Force, she was already in love with him.

The realization had hit her like punch in the gut. Part of her knew it was happening, but another part had been hoping it wasn't. She hadn't been looking to fall in love. Part of her didn't want to fall in love, even. That part of her was almost desperately afraid of caring for another person that much, and was inexplicably afraid of the hold that kind of love could wield over her. And she was also afraid of what loving her would do to the other person.

The more she thought about it, though, the easier it became to accept it, and even desire it. She had never been that close to anyone, save her Master, until she was forced to go on the run. With the Jengals, though she loved them dearly as her adoptive family, there had always been a subtle reserve in her feelings for them that she was ashamed to admit. Vader had become far more important to her than the Jengals had. But even that had been different. Since then, she had discovered just how fulfilling and heartening being able to rely on and care for others really was. She had friends now, and the part of her that feared being loved was beginning to wonder what it would be like to be in love, and wanted to be in love.

She wanted to love Luke, and she wanted him to love her. But she also feared loving Luke, and his feelings for her.

She feared being in love.

She was really starting to get sick of the tumultuous thoughts that were slowly becoming her normal state of being.

Kicking the cot to let out some of her own frustration, she all but threw herself down upon it, covering he face with one arm as she tried to regain at least some sense of calm. The comforting presence chose that moment to make an appearance.

"Finally decided to show up, have you?" she muttered, absently speaking aloud to the presence, her irritation blatantly evident.

"I must apologize. I was speaking with Master Yoda."

"Wonderful. Wait, wha—" Behind her sleeve her eyes shot open. Someone had answered her—the _presence_ had answered her, and she amused him.

She jolted upright, her arm practically flying away from her face. Sitting at the far end of the cot—at least she presumed he was 'sitting'—was a man. He just watched her, his piercing eyes twinkling as he fought the faint smile on his lips. He was older, with long hair partially tied back and a short beard accenting his rugged features. He was tall and rather lanky, looking almost comically scrunched up as he sat on the low cot. He was dressed in a light-coloured, practical tunic, a long dark cloak and high utilitarian boots.

And she could see through him.

Instinctively she tried to back away, only to nearly fall off the cot. The tent was dark, as she hadn't bothered to turn on a lamp, but he gave off a faint blue glow, giving off some light in the little tent. She could feel her mouth trying to work, but she was still too stunned to form a coherent sentence. After a moment, she pulled her thoughts together enough to close her gaping mouth and sit up properly, though she still maintained as much space between them as she could.

"You're the presence." It was a statement that was nearly a question. He bowed his head slightly, confirming what she said anyway. A theory sprang to mind almost as soon she had spoken. "You're a Force-spirit."

"Yes. I was once a Jedi Knight."

"You were a Jedi."

"Yes, indeed I was."

"Who are you?" The presence smiled for real, exuding a deep and abiding calm. Athara couldn't help but feel reassured by the genuine kindness she saw in his intelligent gaze.

"I am Qui-gon Jinn."


	14. Chapter 13

"Sorry, never heard of you."

It never occurred to Athara to feel suspicious of the mysterious figure that was 'sitting' on the end of her cot. As a Force-spirit, she wasn't even sure if he could actually sit; spirits weren't really corporeal, were they?

Qui-gon just smiled.

"That isn't all that surprising. I can't imagine the Empire being interested in teaching much about the Jedi, or the truth behind the events leading to the formation of the Empire." Athara nodded absently, not quite knowing what he was talking about. When he didn't continue, she hesitated, unsure whether or not to ask her next question.

"Who are you then?" He watched her calmly, not at all perturbed.

"I was Obi-wan Kenobi's teacher, his mentor."

"You're his Master?" He nodded slowly.

"He was my Padawan learner before my death, yes."

"You're dead."

"These past thirty-five years, yes." Athara forced herself to swallow. This was…different.

"You're the one who keeps showing up with the visions, and visiting me...sort of."

"Yes. I have watched over you your entire life."

"But you are a Jedi."

"In life, yes."

"Then why were you watching over me?" she blurted out. She instantly wished she hadn't, or at least said it in a slightly more polite way, but the Jedi just smiled indulgently.

"I was asked to." Oh. She was incredibly tempted to ask just who would ask him to watch over her, but the expression on his face urged her to move on. So she let his answer stand…for now. Another question began to press on her mind.

"So you know what I am," she practically whispered. Athara didn't intend for her tone to sound so sad—dejected, even. She half expected to see pity or even resentment in Qui-gon's eyes at mention of her past. After all, he was—had been?—a Jedi, and she had essentially been raised as a Sith, the sworn enemy of the Jedi. His eyes betrayed some sadness, but otherwise his face bore nothing save compassion.

"And just what is that, might I ask?" he asked gently in response. Frustration threatened to boil up again, but the earnest way he looked her immediately had the feeling subsiding. She got the distinct impression that he had no intention of judging her. She thought for a minute.

"One of the Sith; evil." He continued to watch her, his expression steady as he leaned back a bit, straightening.

"I'm not convinced of that." She raised an eyebrow at him. And he said he'd been watching over her for the last twenty or so years? Her frustration began to surface again as her thoughts began to turn dark.

"I suspect Yoda is, though," she said quietly, her tone as bitter as her thoughts. The Jedi sighed.

"Master Yoda has seen a great deal in his long life, and despite many of his efforts, he harbours a great deal of regret and guilt from the years leading up to your birth." Athara frowned, not quite sure what to make of the admission. The Jedi leaned forward again, catching Athara's eye.

"Do not discount Master Yoda just yet. Give him time, he will see that you are far more than a just Sith apprentice." Athara couldn't hold the Jedi's steady gaze. She did not have his conviction.

"What am I to do in the meantime? I came to learn, not to sit here and watch Yoda train Luke."

"There is still much you can learn, young one. Watch, be vigilant, pay attention to the lessons Master Yoda intends to teach young Skywalker. Keep an open mind and be mindful of the Living Force. The path towards becoming a true Jedi is long and hard, especially for one who has walked a path such as yours." Qui-gon smiled kindly. Athara frowned, her gaze not leaving the Jedi as he stood.

"Do not fret, Athara. I will always be close by should you need guidance. While you are here, do not hesitate to call on me."

"So you will be my teacher, instead of Yoda?" The Jedi thought for a moment.

"In a manner of speaking, yes, I suppose I will." He crossed his arms, his hands disappearing into his wide sleeves. A faint, mischievous smile came to his face, causing his eyes to twinkle again. "Then, as your first lesson, I charge you to clear your mind. Try to let go of your fear, your frustration. Do not push it aside or bury it; shed it, leave it behind. A Jedi does not dwell on anger or fear, but lets it go." Then with a final warm smile, he faded from sight, leaving a thoughtful, though still slightly shell-shocked Athara sitting alone in her darkened tent.

She sat for a long time, musing over everything the Jedi had said. She didn't try to let go of her anger and fear just yet. She had too many other things on her mind. She wondered about Vader, she wondered about Luke and Yoda, even Kenobi. Finally, without even realizing it, she nodded off, succumbing to the exhaustion that she had been fighting since she reached Dagobah.

It was morning when she finally woke, though one could barely tell judging by the light, or lack of it, outside. It was still heavily overcast, but it wasn't raining. Pulling on her boots, she ducked out of her tent. She was greeted by a chorus of beeps from the two astro droids that sat on one edge of the small camp. She spared them a faint smile and a friendly wave good morning before stretching out her sore muscles.

For once she felt fully rested. The visions that usually filled her dreams had been absent for the first time in a long while, and she had slept deeply as a result. The conversation with Qui-gon was still fresh in her mind, though for a few minutes after she woke, she had absently wondered if the conversation had itself been a dream before forcefully dismissing the thought.

A quick probe of Luke's tent told her that the young Jedi had already left for his lessons with Yoda. Athara felt a quick stab of disappointment. She had wanted to apologize for her behaviour the night before. She fully realized that he had only been trying to help, and she had all but thrown it back in his face. Her judgment had been clouded by her fear and disappointment, and she had hurt him because of it. As she thought it over, though, she resolved that it was probably a good thing he had already left. She needed to focus on the task Qui-gon had given her before she could even consider listening in on Yoda's lessons.

After eating a quick, and rather unappetizing, breakfast, she retreated into the forest a little to attempt the lesson the spirit Jedi had recommended.

It was difficult, to say the least.

She had never fully realized just how deeply ingrained her reliance on the Dark Side was. She had always known she was far lighter in her use of the Force than Vader, but she had never fully realized how Dark she still was. Letting go of her anger was immensely difficult. Letting go of her fear was even harder.

At least the frustration produced by the exercise provided her with a constant supply of negative feelings to practice on.

It was several hours later when her meditations were eventually interrupted by the growling of her stomach. Pulling herself to her feet, she winced as many of her muscles protested loudly at moving after being stationary for so long.

It didn't take long to return to the camp, and Athara definitely didn't feel any better about her conduct the night before. She was anxious to talk to Luke.

She wasn't sure if she was lucky or not when she caught sight of Luke getting his own lunch at the centre of the camp. Unlike her though, he looked immensely tired…and rather wet. Frowning, she struggled to let go of her reservations instead of just burying them as she usually did. After a moment she succeeded, startling herself as she did so. Throughout the entire morning, she only managed to come close a mere handful of times. Feeling a sudden lightness at her success, she edged forward into the camp.

"What did you do this morning? Why the blazes are you all wet?" There was a decidedly playful tone to her questions as she approached Luke, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. She struggled to hold back a giggle. Luke looked at her critically for a moment before looking down at his sopping wet clothes.

"Oh, umm, Master Yoda had me run a circuit through the swamp, as part of my training, and, uh, I kind of, umm, fell into the water…" Mortified, he couldn't quite meet her eye, but began to fiddle with the soaked jacket balled up in his hands. It took a lot of effort not to laugh, but despite her efforts, a small chuckle escaped, causing Luke's blush to deepen.

"That's not that bad, Luke. It's just a little water; swampy water, but still water."

"I was carrying Yoda on my back." This time she did burst out laughing. The mental picture of a bedraggled and sopping wet Yoda was simply too funny. After a moment Luke chuckled too, seeing a bit of the humour in it.

It was enough to cut the tension that remained between them from the night before. She could see in the way he looked at her when she approached that he didn't blame her for what happened, and certainly didn't hold it against her. He sat on the crate serving as a seat for the little camp and, after picking out some rations for herself, Athara joined him, sitting on a second crate that sat next to him. They sat in silence for a moment before Athara gathered the nerve to speak.

"I'm sorry, Luke, for the way I acted last night. It was unwarranted. You didn't deserve that." The sandy-blonde rebel looked up from his lunch looking decidedly startled.

"No, Tamara, no. It's my fault too. I should've let it go when I realized you didn't want to talk about it, but I pushed." Athara spared him a faint smile.

"I guess we were both guilty of poor judgment last night." Luke made an absent sound of agreement, before taking a long drink from his canteen.

"So, what were you up to this morning?" Athara picked at her meal, barely willing to nibble on the tasteless fare. Luke watched her, waiting patiently for her to answer.

"I meditated, tried to clear my mind and let go of—certain things." Luke's expression became downcast. Athara mentally kicked herself.

"Oh." She sighed at his rather dejected response. She hadn't meant him to interpret that the way he obviously had. She knew it was time for her to start being more open with him, especially about her past.

"Last night, when Yoda spoke of the Dark Side, he was referring to my training. It wasn't as—well, it wasn't exactly what Yoda would consider acceptable. It was a little more—varied." Luke frowned.

"You mean—you've used the Dark Side before." Athara bit back the first response that came to mind: He didn't know the half of it.

"Yeah," was all she said instead. Luke nodded absently, thinking over what she had just said before raising his blue eyes to meet her anxious gaze.

"That doesn't make you bad, Tamara." He said it with such an earnest conviction that it took Athara by surprise. She found that she couldn't quite bring herself to hold his gaze. His sincerity got to her, making her feel unusually vulnerable.

"How do you know? You haven't known me very long, Luke. You don't know some of the things I've done." She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a surge of irritation that she had to start getting teary all of a sudden.

Before she could react, she felt Luke's fingers on her chin, turning her face to his.

"Look at me, Tamara," she struggled to comply before managing to meet his gaze, "One thing that I learned from Ben was to trust my feelings. You always pushed that too. Well, I'm trusting them now, and I feel the good in you. There is some Darkness, but from what I know, everyone has a little Darkness in them. Whatever you might have done in the past, you are here now. You are a good person. I don't doubt that." Though she couldn't quite bring herself to believe him wholeheartedly, Athara was warmed by his conviction. But guilt began to gnaw at her again too. There was so much that she was still keeping from him.

But, instead of telling him, she shifted over to the other crate to lean against him, her arm sliding hesitantly around his waist. It was an unspoken plea to hold her, something that Luke didn't hesitate to do.

It was there that Master Yoda found them, still sitting together and talking quietly. It took them a moment to even realize he was there, but as soon as Athara noticed his disapproving little face, she jerked away from Luke as if burned before snatching up the remnants on their meal with the intention of putting it away.

She tried to ignore the flash of disappointment on Luke's face when she pulled away. Yoda huffed grumpily.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the camp, with Yoda lecturing Luke on the ways and values of the Jedi. Athara, remembering Qui-gon's advice, sat out of the way, but remained close enough to listen and observe the lessons.

" _Emotion there is not, but peace._ _Ignorance there is not, but knowledge._ _Passion there is not, but serenity._ _Chaos there is not, but harmony._ _Death there is not, but the Force. The Jedi Code, this is. Abide by it, all Jedi must."_ Athara looked over to the aged Jedi, noting the frown that had bloomed on Luke's face.

"No emotion, that doesn't seem to make any sense. Ben said the Jedi were protectors. Shouldn't the Jedi be able to feel?" Yoda grunted, pacing in his halting manner as he explained.

"Yes, yes. Feel a Jedi must, but give into emotions, the same it is not." The Jedi gave Athara a pointed look, causing her temper to unconsciously flare. Taking a deep breath, she struggled to let it go as Qui-gon had instructed, but it was far more difficult under the critical gaze of the wizened Master Jedi. "Allow them not to control you, you must. Cloud your judgment, they can. Especially anger, fear, hate. Belong to the Dark Side, they do."

"But what about things like joy, grief, concern—love?" Yoda fixed his large brown eyes on his pupil, a stern look on his face. He hadn't missed the emotion connected with that last feeling, and neither had Athara. She dropped her gaze to her knees, suddenly feigning interest in picking some dried mud from her black pants, determined to avoid Luke's gaze.

"Dangerous, emotions can be. To the Dark Side many can lead, if not vigilant you are. Sadness, worry, attachment, connected to fear and greed they can be. To the Dark Side those belong." Luke obviously wasn't making the connection Yoda was aiming for as the shadow of defiance appeared on his face as he thought about the Jedi's explanation.

Athara, surprisingly enough, did understand. It lead back to the struggle she had been fighting since she began to wonder about her growing feelings for Luke. Out of love came fear; fear for the subject of that love, fear for their safety, their well-being. Still, there were a great many good things that came out of emotion.

"What about compassion?" She raised her gaze to Yoda, almost daring him to ignore her. Instead, he gave her a considering look.

"Compassionate and understanding a Jedi must be. Through peace of mind, achieved these can be without danger."

"The others though, they cannot be achieved through peace of mind?" The diminutive Jedi nearly scowled at her.

"Not so easy, it is. For some, impossible. No amount of peace can safe anger be made. Or fear, or greed."

"But in the pursuit of good? Fear for an innocent's well-being can give one the strength and desire to protect. Grief from tragedy can motivate one to work to prevent a similar event from happening again." Memories of such tragedies suddenly surged to the surface as she spoke. Athara pushed them down, but not before they caught Luke's attention. A thoughtful look came over his face. Yoda thumped his walking stick firmly on the ground.

"No, achieved through unstable emotions, those actions would be. Through peace of mind, logic, and meditation, such actions must be made. Otherwise, at the mercy of the Dark Side, these actions would be." He lifted his stick, pointing it at her. "Aggression, it is, that you describe." Athara frowned, struggling for a moment to follow his unusual way of speaking.

"So not all emotions are bad," she finished quietly. The Jedi's pointed ears drooped in resignation for a moment, knowing his pupils weren't quite understanding what he was explaining. Still, Athara was somewhat right, and he couldn't quite argue with that.

"Followed, the Jedi Code must be, or else, risk everything, you will," he finished quietly, a distinct note of sadness in his voice. Without another word, the hunched figure hobbled away, leaving the two Rebels to their thoughts.

For a long time, they sat there, not moving, until Athara stood. Luke looked over, though still obviously deep in thought about the whole conversation.

"Where are you going?" He asked, a trace of concern buried in his curiosity. Athara paused, turning to give him a quick look.

"To see Master Yoda. I think it's time we had a heart-to-heart."

The entire way to the Jedi's hut, Athara mused over what she was going to say, but when she finally reached the tree that housed the Jedi, every word fled. Still, she knew that she needed to talk things out with Yoda.

Before she could decide whether or not she should knock, though, the little door opened and the diminutive Jedi came outside. Athara nearly rolled her eyes at her own lack of thinking; of course he had sensed her coming.

"You know who I am." It was a matter-of-fact statement, and Athara was sure the Jedi likely knew where this was going to lead. Yoda considered her for a minute, no hint of what he was thinking on his face.

"Yes."

"You know what I am."

"Yes."

"What am I?" It was the one question that Athara was anxious, even desperate, to hear the response to. She wasn't sure anymore. What the diminutive Jedi said next would tell the former Imperial agent everything she needed to know. Yoda just stood there, considering her.

But he didn't answer.

"What am I!" Her tone was sharp and cold, but quiet; it was a threatening, dangerous tone that made grown men flinch when she was angry enough to use it. Yoda didn't flinch. He just sighed heavily, his tiny shoulders drooping as his large brown eyes slid shut.

"An apprentice of evil, you are. In choosing the Dark Side of the Force, a slave to its evil, you have become. Lost to us, you are." His own quiet response was enough to infuriate her. The sadness in his voice was enough to knock that fury away. It was several long moments before she was able to fight back the heartache the Jedi's words caused and managed to speak.

"Choose? I never chose. I never had that choice. When I was only five years old I had to accept the Dark Side or die. The only choice I made was to survive. It's not the choice a child should have to make." If Yoda's response was quiet, Athara's was barely audible. He lifted his gaze to hers, pain and sorrow as evident as the hundreds of years he had seen. She took a cautious step forward, and then another, and another until she stood in front of the wizened figure. Kneeling, she met his assessing gaze straight on. She didn't even know what she wanted to say, but finally just let the words spill out.

"I want that choice. That's why I came here. Master Yoda, I have known nothing but the Dark Side my entire life. I crave balance, to know the peace of the Light, but I have no one who will teach me. I want to be a Jedi. The Dark Side holds no promise for me but despair. I have seen where that path leads. I need your help, Master Jedi. Surely my desire to reach for the Light means I am not lost.

"I don't want to be lost anymore." She practically choked out the last words, startling herself at the depth and potency of emotion the admission dredged up. It hollowed her out, allowing the Jedi to see just how desperate and wounded she was; to see that she not only needed healing, but wanted it with all she was.

Yoda sighed again, a crestfallen yet resigned sound.

"Yes, choice. Balance. Needed these things are." He straightened, once again giving her an appraising look. "Teach you, I will. Listen, you will, to what to say I have. But, in the end, the choice, yours will be." She could feel a flicker of hope deep down in her chest, a flutter of promise. She had gotten him to think, to consider that since she hadn't abandoned the Light in favour of the Dark Side, that she might yet be redeemed. It was enough, apparently, to budge the aged Jedi Master from his unshakeable opinion that the Dark Side never relinquished its servants, even if it was only by a little bit.

She could also tell that, despite his own hope, and his tentative willingness to teach her, he didn't believe she would be able to turn from the Dark Side. A large part of him didn't believe what she had said. The Dark Side revelled in lies and deceit; she knew this. She knew that he didn't fully trust her, and likely never would. The idea that once someone embraced the Dark Side, they were irrevocably changed for the worse with no hope of ever returning to the Light was too deeply ingrained for him to let it go.

But still...there was that tiny, delicate but persistent flicker of hope.

That was all she needed.


	15. Chapter 14

"Use the Force. Yes..." Athara didn't look up from where she was sitting several feet away. At the moment, Yoda was working with Luke, working on his focus and his ability to move objects with the Force.

He was making remarkable progress.

It was making Athara a little resentful though. She had been working with him for two years, and he had made more progress in the last two weeks than he had in all that time before. But she couldn't deny that his progress had everything to do with having a true Jedi Master with years—well, centuries really—of experience teaching young Force-sensitives rather than any lack of ability on her part. She simply hadn't had the knowledge to help him in a way that would've produced the kind of results she was seeing under Yoda's tutelage. She couldn't begrudge that.

Besides she was getting some training of her own out of the deal.

Yoda certainly wasn't pleased about the fact that she had all but shamed him into teaching her. In retrospect, it was a type of manipulation, something that Yoda likely saw as further evidence of her unbreakable dependence on the Dark Side. She truly didn't care though. Between her sessions in meditation and calming her mind with Qui-gon while Yoda put Luke through his paces, and the joint lessons on the Living Force and tapping into it with Yoda, she was learning a great deal.

She still had a long way to go, though. There were still many times when, if left to her own thoughts, she began to wonder if Yoda was right that she would never be able to turn from the Dark Side completely. It was moments like that when she questioned just what she was doing on the slimy little planet. She could tell that all of Yoda's lectures and lessons were aimed at Luke, and anything she got out of them was pure happenstance.

Yet…there were moments, small moments, when Yoda would make a point for her benefit or guide her toward a truth that he wanted her to understand. But they were few and far between.

Still, he wasn't ignoring her, which was something. He was slowly coming around to the idea that she was serious about learning to embrace the Light Side of the Force. From time to time, she would do something or say something that would cause him to look at her with consideration. For instance, shortly after the Jedi had agreed to help her, Luke had managed to wrench his knee during his morning exercises. Without a thought, Athara had tapped into the Force as she tended to the injury, earning a surprised look from the Jedi when she didn't rely on the Dark Side, but on the Light. After he had sunk into a healing trance, Athara had left Luke alone, only to run into both the diminutive Jedi and her ghostly mentor.

"That was very selfless of you, my young Padawan," Qui-gon had said, his pride obvious in his voice. His eyes twinkled as his gaze shifted from her to Yoda. The Jedi Master looked as though he wasn't quite sure what to think and was far from pleased that that was the case. Athara's temper had been rather shorter than it should have probably been, but she managed to remain (somewhat) civil. She had merely shrugged. She really hadn't thought much about her actions.

"If you insist. It needed to be done. Otherwise he wouldn't really be in the best shape for his lessons, would he." Yoda frowned. Qui-gon looked immensely pleased.

"You are making progress," he had said, "you didn't even have to think about clearing your mind of negative feelings, you just did it instinctively. You no longer rely on the Dark Side as you once did." Athara frowned. At that point she hadn't realized she didn't use her anger or frustration to access the Force, not even unconsciously. Qui-gon had proceeded to explain that in order to heal, one needed to be free of Dark feelings that would warp the benefit of the healing. She hadn't known that, though it made sense. She had never given healing a second thought. Healing trances had always come easily to her, just as healing Luke in the moments previous had just come to her. There even had been one or two occasions before Dagobah when she had tended minor injuries Luke had acquired during their sessions with the help of the Force.

Yoda had merely watched on in silence, his expression shifting from one of concern and consideration to one of acceptance. By the time Qui-gon had explained the significance of her instinctual actions, Yoda appeared pleased, and even a little impressed. After that, he didn't quite seem like he was trying to ignore her as he had before.

Thanks to that shift of opinion and fresh attention, she was making progress that, while not being as impressive as Luke's, was substantial enough that she was beginning to feel a shift in herself.

It was promising. Now when she worked with Qui-gon, a look of gratification and pride always suffused his features. He was immensely pleased with her progress. It was becoming rare for Athara to reach for the Force through use of the Dark Side, and her temperament was becoming even more balanced than it had ever been. Her temper was still sharp from time to time, but provoking it was becoming far more difficult than it had ever been before as she learned to use the Force as a balm. She was beginning to let her anger and frustration cool and ebb away as soon as it boiled up.

Her lightsaber training helped. It was providing a bridge of sorts to allow her to begin relearning what she knew without drawing on the Dark Side. At Qui-gon's encouragement and even Yoda's on one occasion, she was finally able to let herself go and push herself during her lightsaber exercises. It felt good; the strain on her body and the work on her concentration cleansing and long overdue. On one particular occasion Yoda and Luke had come across her working her way through her exercises, Kenobi's blue blade arcing and flashing around her faster than the eye could follow. She still hesitated to pull out her own lightsaber, no matter how her hands ached to feel the familiar hilt once again; she was still nervous to allow Luke to see just how tied to the Dark Side she had once been.

When the blue blade stilled she had met the diminutive Jedi's approving gaze. Seeing how pleased he was with her sent a wave of satisfaction through her. Seeing how Luke stared at her in awe caused her cheeks to flush and her heart to race faster than even her exercises had managed. She had realized then that he had never seen her using a lightsaber when she hadn't been tempering her abilities. For a brief instant she grew nervous that he would react poorly upon realizing just how much she had been holding back for his sake when they sparred, but a pleasing warmth spread through her when she realized he had been looking at her with nothing but admiration and astonishment.

Now, as Yoda had Luke practicing his ability to concentrate and manipulate solid objects with the Force while withstanding strain to his body, Athara was focusing on cleansing her thoughts of fear. Qui-gon had instructed her to sit in one of the Force-strong pockets that littered Dagobah's swampy forests, open up her mind and let herself, and her thoughts, loose. The idea was that the Force-pocket would take those thoughts and turn them back at her, providing the challenge of choosing which thoughts held the taint of the Dark Side and reacting to them in a way that didn't push her further from the Light.

Dagobah's natural Force-pockets were most definitely being taken advantage of by both Qui-gon and Yoda, though the Spirit Jedi seemed to prefer using it as a tool to teach while Yoda used them to test. Several days earlier, after completing their daily run through the forest, Yoda had steered Luke toward a Force-pocket within a deep cave that resonated with the Dark Side to test his resistance to its lure.

To put it simply, Luke hadn't passed Yoda's test.

Luke had told her about it later on that evening, obviously still shaken by the experience. In the depths of the cave he had found himself face to face with Vader. Athara's breath had hitched as Luke related the encounter, trying desperately to keep her emotions under control as he told her how he had challenged the Dark Lord and succeeded in defeating the phantom Vader. He understood exactly why it had been his face behind the Sith's mask after Vader had fallen to the young Rebel's lightsaber; he knew now that the Dark Side could twist him into the very thing he was fighting to defeat.

Athara had only listened and offered vague comfort to the shaken Farmboy, but she had no advice to give.

Regardless of the training she was receiving on Dagobah, and her desire to turn from the Dark Side, she still couldn't bring herself to turn from Vader. Just as she had felt a pull toward Luke through the Force, now that she was separated from her former Master, she could feel a pull toward the Sith Lord as well. She was beginning to understand that their three destinies were to be inextricably linked. Eventually, there was going to be a confrontation between Vader and Luke; that much was clear. What wasn't so clear was where she would stand, and she knew she was going to have to choose. She just couldn't figure out yet which side of the line that was going to be.

"Now…the stone." She looked up. Standing on one hand, Luke was focusing on lifting and balancing rocks while holding himself upside down. Yoda, sitting on one of Luke's feet, was instructing the young Rebel.

"Feel it." Slowly, one rock was lifted to balance on another while Yoda's quiet, encouraging voice wound through the misty swamp. Quietly whistling and whirring to each other, Artoo and N3 sat over across the small clearing, between the Force-sensitives and Luke's half-submerged ship. Athara watched the two Jedi in silence while the two droids stood as self-appointed sentinels guarding over their people and the ship.

The almost reverent quiet was abruptly interrupted when both the astro droids started beeping and whistling in panic, snapping the delicate thread of Luke's focus. The rocks slid and rolled from the column Luke had been trying to stack them in.

"Concentra—ate!" Falling in an ungainly tumble, Luke lost his balance, causing the diminutive Jedi to be flung from his perch as Luke hit the ground. Athara leapt to her feet, looking hurriedly from the two Jedi to the squealing droids. Luke grimaced as he began to pull himself up, though worry soon overrode the discomfort she saw on his face as he too scrambled upright. Yoda slowly pulled himself to his feet, an exasperated little moan coming from the Jedi Master.

The water around Luke's X-wing was churning and bubbling as the ship sank further into the murky lake. The droids had fallen silent, though Artoo made a small, dejected moan as Luke went to the edge of the pool, visibly frustrated by the turn of events.

"Oh, no. We'll never get it out now." Irritation and dejection of his own laced Luke's voice as he gestured helplessly at the single wingtip that remained out in the open air. Athara was about to speak out in attempt to reassure him when Yoda beat her to it.

"So certain are you." Athara and Luke both spun to look at the wizened old Master. He still stood in the centre of the clearing where he had fallen, looking as composed and wise as ever. Luke was obviously not impressed. After a moment the Jedi sighed, visibly disappointed.

"Always with you it cannot be done," he looked up at Luke, "hear you nothing that I say?"

"Master, moving stones around is one thing. This is—totally different." A faint note of despondency had made its way into Luke's voice. Yoda was not moved, and for once, Athara was on the old Jedi's side. Luke still didn't, or maybe couldn't, grasp just how powerful the Force could be… or how powerful he was. Yes, his ship sinking was a setback—well, a setback of a sort as they weren't really going anywhere for the time being—but it was not the disaster Luke seemed to think it was.

"No! No different! Only different in your mind." Yoda jabbed his gimer stick into the soggy ground to emphasis his point, "You must unlearn what you have learned." Luke looked appropriately chastened for a moment. Athara frowned; she could see where Yoda wanted this to go. But her Farmboy wasn't ready for that yet. He didn't have the control or the conviction. She wasn't even sure she'd be able to do it if given the chance, especially as new to the Light Side as she was; if she were to allow herself to tap into the Dark Side as she had been conditioned, she'd most likely be able to manage it, but still. In some ways, the little Jedi had been right about Luke being too old; he was already so set in his beliefs, so sure of what was and wasn't possible. Unfortunately, many of the limitations he perceived were of little concern for a Force-user. He just couldn't see that yet. Yoda was taking an awful risk. If Luke was disheartened too much....

Needless to say, the consequences would be severe.

"All right, I'll give it a try." Yoda and Athara both frowned at the resignation in his voice.

"No! Try not. Do, or do not. There is no try." Again, Luke didn't quite manage to hide his skepticism, earning another disapproving frown from the Jedi Master. Athara tried not to let her own disappointment at his attitude show. Even if lifting the ship proved beyond his current abilities, which she knew it was, approaching the task with the closed mind he currently had was certainly not going to improve his chances any. But she didn't let that show; Luke needed someone to be openly supportive, and she could understand why that couldn't be Yoda.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath as he had been taught, Luke cleared his mind, forcing himself to relax as he extended a hand toward the ship. Athara felt like she was standing on pins and needles as she watched the water begin to churn and bubble again.

The silence stretched, thick with anticipation as the former Imperial agent and the Jedi Master watched Luke. Inch by inch the ship began to ease out of the water, cutting through the mist that coated the lake's surface.

Beside her, Athara could feel the hope and excitement that began to course through Yoda as the ship rose further and further into the air. The droids began to whistle with excitement of their own, and Athara herself began to hope that he might be able to do it. If he could…if he could still do it with that much doubt…

Their hope, though, proved premature. His arm and hand shaking from the strain, Luke lost his hold on the fighter, and the X-wing sank back below the murky waves, disappearing completely beneath the surface. Artoo's disappointed whistle gave voice to the unanimous feeling in the small clearing. Yoda's small form seemed to grow smaller as his shoulders sagged in disappointment, his large eyes sliding shut as he lowered his gaze, shaking his head slowly. Athara let out a sad sigh of her own, unable to hide her own feelings. He had been so close.

She watched her Farmboy turn, dejection and exhaustion written in his face and his posture as he sank onto the soggy leaf-litter beside Yoda, his breathing laboured from exertion.

"I can't. It's too big…" Athara fought the urge to join them, to go and comfort him, but she didn't move from where she stood apart from the two Jedi. She knew he needed to hear what Yoda had to say first.

"Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you? Hmm?" Luke, at least, had the grace to look ashamed, but a spark of defiance had lit in his eyes. He was not yet convinced. "Hmph! And well you should not. For my ally is the Force, and a powerful ally it is." Unable to hold the Jedi's gaze, Luke lowered his eyes, appearing suitably chastened. Athara watched her Farmboy closely, silently begging for him to be receptive to the old Jedi's lesson.

"Life creates it, makes it grow." As he spoke, Athara felt more than heard the clearing grow hushed, as if in that moment, Yoda's voice held everything under its spell. "Its energy surrounds us, and binds us," for a moment, Luke seemed to straighten, caught up in the Jedi Master's soft voice, "Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter." He reached out, pinching Luke's shoulder to emphasize his point before continuing.

"You must feel the Force around you." His quiet voice and strange syntax seemed to swell and fill the small clearing. "Here. Between you, me, the tree, the rock." His words alone had power, though he barely spoke above a murmur. "Everywhere." Luke's gaze once again rested on the small Jedi, his expression holding the same awe that coursed through Athara as she listened. Somewhere, deep within her, it felt as through a something had clicked into place.

"Yes...even between the land and the ship." Luke thought for a moment, before shifting, his gaze dropping as dejection once again appeared on his face. Athara realized that Yoda hadn't quite gotten through to him. He had missed something. Standing, frustration and a shade of humiliation bloomed on the sandy-haired pilot's face.

"You want the impossible." The words were dulled by disappointment, their bite gone. Turning away, Luke walked slowly past Yoda and then Athara to where they had stowed their jackets as they attended to their lessons. As he passed, Athara reached out to lay a hand on his arm, trying to give some measure of reassurance. He shrugged her off, not even able to meet her eye. Walking past her without pausing, he snatched his jacket from where it was draped on a nearby tree and stuffed his arms into it before sinking down apart from the others, his face in his hands. This was what Athara had been afraid of. He was beginning to doubt just how strong he was. Tears began to prick at her eyes. Hurt and shame was coming off Luke in waves, and he wouldn't let anyone near him; she didn't even need to try to know he would only push her away.

She spun toward the wizened old Jedi, her carefully cultivated calm beginning to crack as an instinct to protect Luke surged forward. She wanted to tear a strip off the puny Jedi for encouraging her Farmboy to do something he was far from ready for, something that could cripple his confidence if he failed. But she was stopped in her tracks when she focused on the Jedi again.

He was still standing facing the lake with his back to her. He was a beacon of focus and quiet power amid the gloomy mistiness of the swamp, his small three-fingered hand outstretched before him even as his shoulders remained hunched. Out across the small lake, the surface began to surge and foam as Athara watched, her mouth parting in awe as the ship began to rise gracefully from the depths of the gloom. Artoo and N3 both began to whistle enthusiastically.

"Luke!" She was barely able to get out his name, and was reluctant to tear her eyes away. Still, she glanced back to see if he had heard her, looking back to Yoda and the ship when she saw that he was walking slowly up behind her. As he passed her, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he was similarly entranced by the Jedi Master as she was.

Slowly, the diminutive figure straightened, his shoulders squaring and his head lifting as the ship itself lifted free of the water. Streams of liquid spilled from exhaust ports and out of the engines while water plants clung to the landing gear and the hull. Slowly, the ship turned, gliding over the rippling mist to the clearing where they stood, watching in a mixture of wonder and disbelief. Time stood still as the X-wing was lowered to the ground, its landing gear touching down without so much as a sound in front of Luke. The only sound as the ship came to rest was the celebratory sounds coming from the two droids. Even the forest around them seemed to fall silent. The Jedi opened his eyes, relaxed and satisfied.

Luke looked how Athara felt as he all but dashed around the ship, touching it tentatively as though to make sure it was indeed real. Yoda sighed, his eyes lowered again. It was a sad and disappointed sound. Luke's astonishment clear on his face, he finally looked to Yoda and raced to his side. Athara watched from a distance, knowing the Jedi was grieved that Luke needed the proof in the first place.

"I don't—I don't believe it." Luke watched the small figure with wide eyes. Yoda was quiet for a moment before he looked up. His large brown eyes were clouded with melancholy and regret.

"That is why you fail," he whispered sadly.


	16. Chapter 15

Never was Athara more relieved than when Luke took his failure and resolved to overcome it. She had feared that being confronted by his inability to embrace the Force as he should would hurt his training. Thankfully, it made him even more determined than ever. The following morning he returned to his training with renewed vigor, set on letting go of the doubts that had been holding him back. Once again, his training progressed by leaps and bounds.

But it would seem it was not to last, that the events out in the rest of the Galaxy would invade their secluded training grounds. Luke still had so much to learn, and so she was still hesitant to actually take the next steps she needed to make herself. Athara was coming to realize more frequently that her time on the swampy planet was drawing to a close. There was still a great deal for her to face, but it could not be done on Dagobah. She knew that soon she would have to leave.

That moment came far too quickly.

As usual, Athara's lessons were far more stationary and internally focused than Luke's, so she was once again sitting just outside the clearing where Yoda was working with Luke. The young rebel, meanwhile, was again standing on his hands, using the Force to balance himself while stretching his mental control. Having learned his lesson, though, Yoda was standing a short distance away, thoroughly tired of being flung around when the limits to Luke's growing control were exceeded.

"Concentrate... feel the Force flow." Slowly, but steadily, the objects strewn around the clearing were lifting into the air as Yoda spoke gently to Luke, encouraging him as he began to lift one more object, "Yes." and then another. Artoo warbled with what could only be described as exasperation as he was lifted, while N3 whistled in commiseration as he too began to rise. After all, the little droids were used to being used like this. "Good, calm, yes." Athara was pulled from her own musings when the Force began to gather around Luke in a very particular way. Yoda obviously recognized it too, amending his quiet comments.

"Through the Force, things you will see. Other places. The future . . . the past. Old friends long gone." Luke's eyes abruptly focused, and Athara tensed as anxiety suddenly coursed through him.

"Han? Leia!" The calm was shattered as his hold on the crates failed and both droids squealed in shock and outrage as they too crashed to the ground. His arms collapsing under him, Luke quickly joined them on the soggy ground. Athara was on her feet in an instant, reaching out to glean what she could from the quickly retreating vision, forcing away the stab of jealousy at the way Luke had reacted to Leia's part in the vision. Unable to get much, her gaze immediately shifted to Luke. Her breath hitched as worry coursed through her at the sight of him, pale and shaking on the ground where he had fallen. He had barely even propped himself up. Yoda just shook his head, sighing heavily while Artoo spluttered in indignation in the background.

"Control, control. You must learn control." Luke didn't even seem to hear him. Instead, he still seemed far away.

"I saw…I saw a city in the clouds." Despite the fear and shock that was still evident on his face, a faint wonder suffused his voice. Athara couldn't help but inch forward, eager to hear what had shaken him so. Yoda nodded once again, the exasperation not quite gone from his voice though understanding had joined it.

"Mmm. Friends you have there."

"They were in pain." The wonder was gone. Dread now began to replace worry in Athara. Beside her, she could feel Qui-gon's presence materialize, something that, for once, did not give her any comfort.

"It is the future you see." The aged Jedi was speaking far too gently. Luke was now looking intently at the diminutive Master.

"Future?" Yoda nodded. Though the wonder was back, Athara knew it was only a matter of moments before the fear set in again. He abruptly got to his feet, obviously having some difficulty processing the information. In an instant, she was at his side, laying a gentle hand on his arm. He looked over at her. Her expression must have been very bleak, for he blanched again. Taking her hand in his, he swung around to meet Yoda's gaze again.

"Will they die?" Yoda's only answer was a tired sigh. Lowering his head, his luminous eyes closed slowly as he began a quick probe into the future. The silence seemed to stretch for an eternity before he spoke.

"Difficult to see." His large eyes opened slowly, and Athara couldn't help but notice the regret and sadness that lay within them. "Always in motion is the future." Luke could only shake his head, not quite believing it. A resolve settled over him, shining out through his eyes as he glanced first at Athara, then back to Yoda.

"I've got to go to them." Athara was about to protest, but Luke was already beginning to pull away. Yoda, however, spoke first.

"Decide, you must, how to serve them best. If you leave now, help them you could. But you would destroy all for which they have fought and suffered." Luke turned slowly back to the Jedi Master, looking more torn and helpless than Athara had ever seen him. Defeated, her young Rebel could only nod his acknowledgement. It was then that she felt Qui-gon's spirit reach out to her.

If he had been corporeal, or even visible, he'd have placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. But even though he was neither at the moment, his message was clear.

"I'll go."

She was almost as startled by the sound of her own voice as Luke was. She took a shaking breath, willing the bewildered look on her Farmboy's face not to weaken her sudden resolve. Yoda started to speak, but she shot him a sharp look, daring him to stop her. They both knew that if she didn't go, Luke would. "I'll go," she repeated, her voice a little stronger. "I'll go to Bespin. You need to stay here, to continue your training." Luke stepped back toward her, searching her features as if some sort of explanation would spontaneously appear.

"But what about you? Your training?" Almost completely ignored now, Yoda frowned, watching the exchange intently. Athara could only manage a wane smile.

"I've learned all I can here. The time has come for me to begin facing my demons." Without warning, Luke pulled her into a crushing hug, and it took all of Athara's strength not to bury her face into his shoulder. Instead, she settled for hugging him back only. A few times, she thought he was about to say something, but he always thought the better of it.

But there was nothing more to say, and they both knew it. Eventually, they pulled apart and, with only a few parting words to Yoda, they both started back toward the camp.

As with the set up, breaking Athara's portion of the camp went very quickly, and a short while after that her gear was safely tucked away in the belly of her X-wing. All too soon she was ready to depart. Pointedly delaying the inevitable goodbye, Athara took her time levitating N3 up to his cubby. It was a testament to his mood that Luke was not watching the process avidly, nor marvelling at the ease with which she could do it. Instead he was watching her.

"Are you sure this is what you need to do?" It took all her strength not to betray just how weak her resolve actually was. Behind her, N3 was beginning to fire up the converters and prepare the ship for takeoff.

"Luke, please. My feelings tell me that this is what I have to do. And if you search yours, I know you'll realize the same." It was then that she turned around to face him. The concern on his face nearly broke her…as did the love. She fought back the tears that suddenly threatened to spill over. Forcing a smile she began to turn, but a gentle touch on her hand gave her pause.

"I'll come with you." Before she could help it, a genuine smile came to Athara's lips. She turned back to him.

"Oh, Farmboy." She wanted to say something else, but no words would come. She turned to start climbing into the X-wing, but paused again, needing to do one more thing before she left. This time when she turned, she grabbed Luke and pressed her lips to his.

It was quick, completely impulsive and could not really be considered graceful or romantic by any means. But it was still, somehow, perfect.

They parted after only a moment, and in a flash Athara propelled herself up the ladder toward the cockpit before she could change her mind about leaving. Once she reached the top rung, she turned, giving Luke one last lingering look.

"Be careful, Tamara." A trace of a smile came to her lips at the feeling in his voice, though a twinge of pain accompanied it; part of her longed to hear him say her real name.

"Don't worry, Farmboy, you'll see me again." Despite his best efforts, a small answering smile made its way across his features. With a small wave, she hopped into the cockpit. As she was settling in, a slight tremor in the Force drew her attention to the edge of the clearing.

Standing on one of the many large roots that ringed the clearing stood Yoda, watching stoically from the cover of the trees. A familiar bluish glow came from his right, and for a moment she thought Qui-gon was standing beside him. But upon a closer look, she realized that the figure was a stranger, though one she vaguely recognized.

For a long moment, she met Obi-wan's eyes. The familiar feeling that she should know him resurfaced, but she didn't have time to linger.

As she began lifting off, a voice echoed through her thoughts.

 _May the Force be with you, Athara Adyé_ , Kenobi's quiet voice said, echoing through her mind, laced with an emotion she couldn't quite place.

 _And with you, Master Kenobi,_ she thought quietly, knowing he would hear her, _keep him safe_. Looking over to him again, the spectral Jedi's only response was to nod his head once. It was enough. With one last glance at Luke, she began her ascent from Dagobah.

To get to Bespin, Athara was essentially retracing her steps to Hoth, though thankfully the gas planet was ever so slightly closer than the ice one had been. But it still gave her plenty of time alone with her thoughts, and plenty of time to bury and hide them away. Her feelings told her she was about to be reunited with her Master, and though the memory of Luke's kiss or the realization that he reciprocated her feelings was a beacon of light in her thoughts, it was not something she particularly wanted to risk Vader catching wind of.

She was still terribly uncertain of what his reaction would be when she saw him again. She highly doubted he'd be contrite or apologetic. But she was similarly skeptical that his fury at her would reappear, or at least, she was sure he wouldn't act on it again the way he had on Hoth.

Yet she couldn't quite see him being happy to see her. Perhaps relieved that she was still alive, but not happy, per se. Really, she didn't know what to expect, and was wary above all else.

It was a hard thing, realizing that she no longer implicitly trusted Vader.

Thankfully, by the time she reached Bespin, she had wrestled her feelings into the deep, hidden and protected recesses of her mind, and had either shed what anger and fear she could or pushed it strongly out of the way. She was going to need a clear head for what lay before her.

As she descended through the billowing pink clouds of tibanna gas she made no effort to shield her presence. After all, she needed to meet with her Master face to face, and she knew very well that stealth would be far less wise with Vader.

Sure enough, there was an Imperial presence on the floating city that stood as the hub of Bespin's mining operation. As she approached Cloud City in the company of a patrolling cloud car, she easily noticed an Imperial shuttle lifting off from the far side of the concourse, no doubt intending to rendezvous with a Star Destroyer hiding behind one of Bespin's moons. Reaching out, she tried to locate her Master, curious if he had arrived yet. After a few minutes without success, she began to wonder if she had arrived first and witnessed a vanguard only.

It was then that she felt Vader. He was already within the city; likely in the initial stages of planning the trap Luke had seen Han and Leia falling into. Within moments of her sensing him, she felt him recognize her presence. Athara let a sigh escape her. There was no turning back now.

Soon enough, her ship was safely settled within one of the few covered landing platforms in the city. She was not alone. Indeed, a company of Stormtroopers was already waiting for her, their blasters drawn and aimed at her. Taking one last bracing breath, she popped the hatch. Slowly climbing down, the instant her feet touched the duracrete of the platform there were shouted orders for her to surrender. Placing her hands up, palms out, she allowed them to take her into custody. Once her lightsaber was discovered, well, protocol dictated one thing.

So it was that she was brought before Vader in binders. It was not a terribly dignified entrance, but it served its purpose. For several long moments, Athara and Vader could only watch each other, each shielding their feelings from the other. Vader was the first to speak, though it wasn't to her. Without shifting his gaze from her, he addressed the Commander and troopers that still formed a guard around her.

"Leave us." The Commander nodded curtly.

"Shall I give the order to begin searching her ship?" Athara didn't allow herself to tense. She didn't particularly want any Imperials touching the fighter; despite the memory system wipe she'd had N3 run before they reached Bespin, there were other things she didn't particularly want them to poke through, like her personal possessions, including Kenobi's lightsaber. She had swapped the now familiar weapon for the ruby blade she used to wear shortly before leaving Dagobah, and though she was sure the compartment in N3 she had stowed it in was sufficiently hidden, she wasn't keen on pushing her luck. She also wasn't keen on them getting their hands on N3. Though her practical reasoning had told her to wipe the droid's memory, she couldn't bring herself to do it. She was far too attached to the little droid. Anyway, if the Imperial investigators tried to download any data, her standing protocols meant that N3's systems would wipe or corrupt any data in his memory systems regardless.

Vader thought for a moment, his fathomless eyes still locked on her while his mask betrayed nothing. Her own mask-like expression was firmly in place.

"No. Leave the ship for the time being. There are other preparations to attend to. It is safely out of sight, and will not compromise our mission. That will be all, Commander." The Officer looked ready to object, but obviously thought the better of it, quickly turning and gesturing his troopers out of room before following them out himself.

As soon as the door hissed shut Athara let out a loud breath, breaking the silence. Just as Vader hadn't broken eye contact, neither had Athara. She could not let him catch even a hint of her nervousness. Now that they were alone, though, she allowed herself to speak.

"Hello, Master." When Vader didn't respond, she shifted her hands slightly, reaching out to the binders through the Force. "I am going to assume these are no longer necessary." To punctuate her words, she loosed the clasps with a mere nudge of the Force, allowing the binders to clatter to the floor. The tension between them was so thick it could be cut with a knife, but it was still several more moments before Vader broke his own silence.

"You should not have sought me out, my young apprentice." Athara could not help the weariness she felt from escaping her mental shields. "The Emperor is far from forgiving, and still desires that you be brought before him for questioning."

"And such questioning will result in my eventual and painful death. I am well aware of that, Master. But that is not why I am here." She hesitated, suddenly unsure how to formulate just what to say next. Vader, however, beat her to it.

"You have been associating with the Rebel named Skywalker." It was a statement, but one that demanded explanation. At Vader's mention of Luke, Athara managed to keep most of her panic to herself, but her Master did not miss the minute way she tensed. There was no denying it. She knew that was going to be the case before she ever left Dagobah.

"Yes." Vader waited, obviously hoping she would elaborate, but he was to be disappointed. Athara didn't say another word about it, she wouldn't; she refused to. Eventually he turned, walking to the wide expanse of plexi overlooking the city on the far side of the room. Athara took the opportunity to close her eyes for a moment, checking that her mental shields were still intact and bracing herself for what was to come. She knew this was going to be hard, but she hadn't realized it was going to feel quite like this. She felt hollow, standing there. She was once again reunited with her Master, but she had never felt a gulf like this between them before. Yet, she could not fight the connection between them, or the feelings of loyalty and affection she still harboured. He was the closest thing to family she had left.

Again, he was the one to once again break the silence between them.

"Then undoubtedly you have felt his potential."

"I will not help you turn him." No matter her efforts, her voice sounded more tired than firm. Vader turned back to her, but he waited for her to continue. "I can't. I can't let you have him."

"And that is why you have sought me out? To deny me the boy." They both knew that wasn't entirely true, but he allowed her to say it anyway.

"Yes—and no. Luke is only a part of this. I'm here for me."

"So you have chosen a side?"

"You know very well I can't do that either."

"Yet you fight for the Rebellion." Her own shields weren't the only ones in danger of failing. Despite his calm exterior, tendrils of Vader's inner turmoil were escaping. The depth of his pain was almost enough to bring Athara's resolve crashing down.

"I fight against the Emperor, not you. I know you can't possibly believe in him anymore. You aren't evil, not like him. Not completely. You're just—lost…like me…"

"Just as I am your Master, he is mine. I cannot betray him anymore than you claim you can betray me." Athara was struggling now to hold her feelings in check. The more they traded words, the clearer her path became. She had few options. She needed to protect those she cared about, and there was one clear way to do that. She sighed heavily, knowing that her path was once again growing darker. She knew what she had to do, so she made a choice.

"You are still my Master. I cannot betray you."

It was at that moment they were interrupted.

"Lord Vader." An edgy excitement was coming off the Commander in waves. "The _Millennium_ _Falcon_ has just landed on Platform Three-Two-Seven."


	17. Chapter 16

Part of her had begun to believe that The Dark Lady Obscura was firmly a part of her past. But once again, Athara was wrapped in the midnight-hued cloak that had added mystery to the persona she had cultivated in the years before the events above Yavin's fourth moon. About her hips was her thick utility belt, though the custom hook was empty, Vader having taken her ruby-bladed lightsaber. It was still familiar, though, and she had instinctively relaxed the instant her face was shrouded by the wide cowl. She was not pleased about that.

She had hoped, despite her cynicism, that after her time on Dagobah she had truly moved past this chapter of her life. But her reality hurt. She had not changed so much as she hoped. Sure, things in her life had changed; Vader's wariness and distrust being chief among them.

Unfortunately, it seemed few other things had really changed.

Almost the instant she had begun walking the crisp corridors as Obscura, she was accorded the deference and obedience she had attempted to foster before her break with the Empire. It seemed that, despite the Emperor's obvious desire to have her dealt with, her disappearance had been kept quiet, and her defection a complete secret. Upon reflection that made sense; even the all-powerful Emperor couldn't afford to have a prominent agent defect. It would have been far too embarrassing for the Empire. So it was that she was once again a shadow at Vader's side, his right hand in appearance, if no longer completely in truth.

Vader seemed to have convinced himself that things could be as they once were, though he made no mention of what they were going to do once the Emperor found out about her reappearance. Her time with the Rebellion was treated as though it had never happened. After that first conversation, it was not mentioned again, though she could all but feel him restraining the questions he undoubtedly had. That didn't stop him from attempting to glean what information he could, though. Her fighter had been stripped and its memory systems harvested—though there really was nothing left to be found—before being destroyed. All she had managed to save were the possessions she had brought with her and her trusty little green droid.

She didn't argue. She couldn't.

That she had been able to protect N3 was a surprise, but she also suspected that Vader was trying to appease her when she had insisted. She got the feeling that, despite his tough approach to her journey to regain his trust, he was doing his best to encourage her to trust him back. His attempt on her life still pained him. She didn't know how she knew that, but she trusted the instinct.

It was all she had left of Dagobah, really; a heightened trust in the Force and in her instincts that she had never quite achieved when she had relied on the Dark Side. For the first time in her life she had allowed herself to truly trust the Force. Sure she had used the Dark Side, and had opened herself up to it almost completely, but she had never really trusted it. Not like she had come to trust the Light. It became a balm to her battered hope, something to soothe the ache that had come to reside deep within her chest every time she was confronted with her own inability to break from the Dark Side completely. Qui-gon's teachings on the Living Force and shedding her negative emotions had not been in vain, though her newfound techniques were being severely tested purely because of the proximity of Vader's Darkness. That she could still touch the Light amid the Dark Side  that surrounded her and still rely on it gave her hope.

As did the memory of a certain Farmboy, and a fleeting kiss.

What kept her going was the knowledge that she was protecting Luke from the Darkness she was subjecting herself to. She could handle it and even withstand it on occasion, now that she had been exposed to the Light. She also knew that he couldn't. Not yet, anyway.

That didn't make it any easier, though. Not by a long shot.

She knew that, somewhere in the city, her friends were walking straight into a trap, and she could do nothing to stop it without risking everything and what little of Vader's trust she had left. He was impossibly bent on capturing Luke, though for what reason she couldn't yet figure out. In the past, whenever word of Force-sensitives had reached the Emperor’s or Vader's attention, they were dealt with—permanently. This obsession Vader had with finding Luke made no sense.

Athara had learned from Luke that he was indeed related to Kenobi's apprentice Anakin Skywalker; Luke was the Clone War Jedi's son. She had also learned from her Farmboy that Vader had also once been Kenobi's apprentice, and she knew from her research on Luke's former mentor, and from Luke himself, that Kenobi and Luke's father had been close friends. Her Farmboy had even shared that Luke's father, Anakin, had left his lightsaber with the older Master to pass on to Luke. By extension, then, Vader and Luke's father had to have known each other. Further, that Vader was responsible for Anakin Skywalker's death had been hinted at but never explicitly confirmed by Luke, though Athara had easily been able to read it in her Farmboy's face when he spoke of his father and Vader. Any possible explanations had to stem from that. But what was at the heart of Vader's fixation was what she couldn't even begin to guess. She didn't know enough. There were too many pieces of the puzzle missing.

It was one of the many things she was ruminating on when Vader summoned her to his side. She listened to the Officer's message in silence, acknowledging him with only a nod before following him to one of the smaller dining halls on the city's upper concourse.

She knew what was coming, though she didn't quite expect the company. There was a familiar helmeted form standing off to the side of the room, down a narrow serving passageway opposite the one she currently occupied.

"Fett. I must admit, I am a little surprised to see you here." The Mandalorian bounty hunter turned at the sound of her voice, inclining his head ever so slightly in greeting, though Athara knew the gesture was tinged with disdain. It was well known that Fett disliked Force-users. Well, she could never quite warm up to him either. "Working for my Master again?"

"You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me, Obscura. Your Commanders lost the _Millennium_ _Falcon_. I found it."

"And evidently told Vader while you were at it."

"He wants the Rebel Skywalker. I want Captain Solo. It is a beneficial arrangement for both of us." Athara had to fight to keep her dismay in check. It was also well known that Jabba the Hutt wanted Han, dead or alive. So long as he was able to use Han first, her Master would have no qualms about handing the smuggler over to Fett. Instead, she forced a calming breath into her lungs, looking out to where Vader sat at the head of the central banquet table, facing the door. Before she could respond, though, those very doors opened, revealing Han, Chewie and the Princess. The looks of shock and betrayal on Han and Leia's faces were enough that, despite her effort, Athara flinched, guilt flooding through her. Chewie roared in fury, a sound that caused a shiver to run up Athara's spine.

In an instant Han had his blaster out, letting several blasterbolts fly at Vader. With little effort, Vader deflected the bolts by simply holding up a gloved palm. The astonishment on Han's face as the blaster was wrenched out of his hand with the Force was painful to watch. Vader calmly palmed the crude weapon before placing it almost gently on the table.

"I would be honoured if you would join us." The Dark Lord gestured to the seats surrounding the table, a parody of the gracious host. There was nothing gracious about it. He was almost smug, and it made Athara sick to feel his satisfaction at her friends' pain. But she couldn't let her Master see how it hurt her. She needed to stand firm.

She couldn't help them if she was locked away too.

Beside her, Boba Fett slipped from the discreet passageway to stand behind Vader, while out in the mezzanine troopers flooded out from their own hiding places to flank the three Rebels, blocking any chance of escape.

Mentally steadying herself, Athara too stepped out from her hiding place, falling in behind Vader as well. Athara could faintly hear Calrissian mechanically explaining what had just happened. At the bitter response from Han, she nearly lost what was left of her resolve to keep herself emotionally detached. Behind Han, Chewie moaned sadly, and Leia peeked out from where she stood at the smuggler's side. The bewildered look on the Princess' face turned murderous as she caught sight of the Sith apprentice, something that went unnoticed by Han. Several troopers came up behind the Rebels. Chewbacca tensed and growled a bit, but a reassuring look from Han calmed him somewhat, though Athara could feel the rage simmering in the wookiee.

However, not one of the troopers stepped forward to take the Rebels into custody. A nod from Vader indicated for the doors to be closed, and without saying a word, the Dark Lord took a seat, gesturing for the Rebels and the Baron Administrator to take their seats as well. After a long tense moment, they reluctantly complied. Vader surveyed the Rebels in front of him, still not uttering a word. Finally, the tension got the better of them all, especially Han. He all but leapt to his feet, staring down Vader even as Fett's blaster was suddenly at the ready, pointing right at the smuggler. Athara's angry glare snapped to the bounty hunter and, after a tense moment, he lowered his weapon.

"What is the point of this?! Shouldn't you have thrown us into cells already?" Athara tentatively looked to Vader, unsure herself what this charade was intended to accomplish. The best she could figure was that her Master was getting a feel for the three of them, observing them for a few moments to decide how best to exploit their presence. Vader leaned forward, his hands clasped before him.

"Am I to understand that you would prefer a cell, Captain Solo?"

"Instead of this? Maybe." Han's tone was indignant and blatantly challenging. Athara could swear that, if he could, Vader would have chuckled. He didn't respond, though. Rising from her seat with a little more restraint, Leia took Vader's silence as an opportunity to speak. For what felt like the first time since they entered the room, her gaze left Athara. It felt like a weight had been lifted, the Princess's anger held such strength.

"Hasn't this mockery gone on long enough, Lord Vader? Or is there a purpose to just sitting here beyond trying to get under our skins?" Her anger was just as strong when aimed at Vader, but her voice revealed that, despite that, she still kept her head. The Dark Lord turned to the Princess, considering her for a moment. He then turned slightly toward Athara, nodding curtly. Knowing exactly what he expected, Athara moved from her position beside Vader. A piece fell into place as her Master met her gaze; he was testing her. This mockery, as the Princess had put it, was aimed at her too, to test her loyalty. And she knew exactly what the next obstacle was going to be. She could only hope she would pass.

So Athara did what Vader's test required her to do, and she began making her way around the table in order to fetch some troopers to lead their new prisoners away. She was stopped in her tracks, though, when she went to pass Leia, who nimbly stepped out in front of the Sith apprentice.

"Lady Obscura." The Princess' voice was dripping with disdain.

"Good to see you too, Princess." Athara couldn't help the sarcasm that tinted her tone. A mocking smile came to Leia's lips.

"I see you have found your way back to your Master." Athara tried to bite back her response, but she couldn't quite manage it.

"And I see you have found your way back into Imperial custody."

"I take it you are the reason we are in custody in the first place." As she spoke, Leia took a bold step forward and then another, until they were standing toe-to-toe. She peered into the depths of Athara's hood, trying to make out her features. Athara fought the anger she could feel rising within her. Behind Leia, Han was watching the pair of them intently, once again looking bewildered.

"No, you have Fett to thank for that. I cannot take credit, your Highness," Athara countered, her patience waning quickly. Leia laughed quietly, a cynical, bitter sound.

"I can't believe I didn't see it sooner." Before Athara could react, Leia's hand whipped out, tearing the hood from her head, revealing the Sith apprentice's face for all to see. Han's eyes nearly popped out of his skull, his mouth dropping open. Chewie made a low, sad moaning sound, nearly tearing down Athara's stony composure. "An Imperial agent. I knew it. I knew I knew you from somewhere."

"Tamara?" At Han's disbelieving tone, Athara's jaw clenched, but it was the only reaction she allowed. Somehow, she was able to keep her face blank. She could feel how betrayed her friends felt, and it all but broke her heart. It was hard, but she ignored Han, not even sparing him a glance. She kept her eyes instead on Leia. The Princess' brown eyes blazed in triumph and anger.

"You found me out. Now if you'll excuse me, I have preparations to attend to." It took only a nudge with the Force to push Leia back into her seat, startling the smug expression from the Princess' face. Raising her hood, Athara deftly stepped past the Princess, exiting the dining hall in search of the squadron commander. She had allowed herself a measured, but brisk pace. What she really wanted to do was run. The looks on Han and Chewie's faces were tearing her up inside. She had come to think of them as two of her closest friends. And she had kept her past from them. Not only that, but now she had betrayed them.

She had a job to do, though. Almost the instant the doors had closed behind her, the squadron commander was at her side, awaiting her orders. After relaying her own standing orders, to have the Rebel prisoners escorted to the city's holding cells, Athara immediately retreated from the mezzanine, desperate to get away. She couldn't bear to watch the Princess' satisfaction at being right, or the pained looks on Han and Chewie's faces as they were led away. She knew what was coming. She had overheard Vader giving orders for a series of interrogations to be prepared. She also knew that the purpose of the interrogations was to cause pain, not retrieve information. The very thought caused her blood to run cold.

She had to get a hold of herself, though. She would be of no use to anyone if she lost control. If she lost control, there was no way she'd be able to find a way to get her friends out of Vader's custody.

It was not long, though, before she was summoned back to Vader's side. The officer in charge of fetching her found her on one of the bridges that wove through the city's upper concourse.

It really was beautiful, to look out over the shimmering towers to the billowing pink and orange-hued clouds of a Bespin evening; surreal even. She felt like, for a moment at least, she could pretend she was at ease, that none of the nightmarish situation that was happening around her was real. But though she wanted to, she didn't allow herself to think on Luke. She couldn't, not without risking Vader discovering how deeply attached she had become to the young Jedi.

"My Lady?" With a single word, the officer had managed to shatter the fragile feeling of peace Athara had managed to construct around herself. Thankfully, it had been enough for the time being. Trying to keep her head and keep the temptation of the Dark Side at bay was proving much harder than she hoped. The few quiet moments she had stolen had allowed her to employ Qui-gon's techniques for shedding her anger and fear; at least so much as she was able under the circumstances.

The officer hesitated, waiting to see if she would acknowledge him. She tilted her head only, to show she had heard him.

"Lord Vader requests your presence." All she could do was nod. So that was what Vader wished to do. He intended to keep testing her. He had felt her conflict at Han and Chewie's reactions. She evidently hadn't guarded herself as well as she had intended, but her friends' betrayed expressions had ripped through her, shredding her control.

The 'interrogations' had already begun. Distantly, she could feel her friend's pain through the Force. Vader was looking for her response to that pain, something to further gauge her loyalty and her purpose. He wanted to see just how attached she was to these Rebels. She couldn't allow him to see just how torn she really was. She feared what he would do if he did, either to her or to them. Athara exhaled slowly, strengthening her mental shields and her resolve as she did so.

"Lead the way, Lieutenant."

It did not take as long as she hoped to reach the interrogation room Vader was in. As she approached, she could sense Vader's grim determination, and the searing pain that he and his troopers were subjecting Han to. Even through the thick doors, she could hear Han's piercing screams. Down the hall she could feel Chewie raging in pain at the aural torture they had chosen to use, while Leia suffered through a similar method in yet another converted torture chamber. She nearly choked on the bile than rose in her throat.

Waiting outside Vader's newly appropriated torture chamber was Boba Fett, looking as cool and menacing as ever, and Calrissian, looking immensely distraught. Not that that particularly surprised Athara. He had been manipulated and coerced into betraying Han, a friend. In some respects, Athara could empathize with that…though she had willfully kept her identity from her colleagues, and had chosen to act once more as Vader's right hand. Unlike her, Calrissian had at least had little choice in the matter. The Baron Administrator started when he noticed her approach, painfully on edge thanks to the tortured cries of his friend on the other side of the door. Fett merely inclined his head in silent greeting. Athara didn't return it. She was too close to losing her recently renewed control over her anger.

Eventually the screams began to cease and, after reaching out through the Force, Athara had to withhold a sigh of relief when she realized that Han had mercifully passed out. She could feel her Master moving around inside, and before long the door hissed open. As Vader exited the chamber, Athara forced herself to look inside, choking back an involuntary gasp at Han's limp form being removed from the Scan Grid device he was strapped to. Vader glanced at her for a moment, the contours of his mask harsher than usual in the security tower's dimmed artificial light. Calrissian jumped to attention the instant Vader stepped foot into the corridor.

"Lord Vader," the administrator started, but Vader ignored him, striding past him toward the turbolift, forcing all three of them to fall into step behind the Dark Lord. The Mandalorian bounty hunter elbowed his way past Calrissian and Athara to ensure he was next to the Dark Lord when he spoke. The Sith apprentice followed behind the Baron Administrator, taking up the rear of Vader's little entourage.

"You may take Captain Solo to Jabba the Hutt after I have Skywalker." Athara already knew that Luke's capture was Vader's endgame here, but hearing him say it still felt like a punch to the gut. He was hunting Luke, and when Vader was hunting, he rarely failed. It terrified her. She could only hold onto the hope, however small it was, that Luke would remain on Dagobah, and resist the impulse to rush into the fray to try and save them all.

"He's no good to me dead." Boba Fett's response was clipped and annoyed.

"He will not be permanently damaged." It was so matter-of-fact and so cold that Athara had to fight back tears. Han didn't deserve this. None of them deserved this. Calrissian spoke up, interrupting the two helmeted men.

"Lord Vader, What about Leia and the wookiee?" Vader paused, turning to the administrator, his mask as harsh as his mood. Athara could feel his irritation, and his impatience, growing. He wanted Skywalker to appear already, and had little interest in anything else. Calrissian faltered for a moment, caught as he was in the Dark Lord's stare, but he quickly recovered, standing firm.

"They must never again leave this city." Vader's voice was calm and strangely devoid of the irritation she could feel in him. Athara frowned as her Master continued on, stepping into the waiting turbolift. Calrissian was visibly taken aback, though again he recovered quickly, making no effort to hide his outrage. Either he was tired of playing politic, or he was simply too angry to care. Athara was sure it was the latter.

"That was never a condition of our arrangement, nor was giving Han to this bounty hunter!" Vader turned again, and Athara could feel his irritation turning to anger as the city administrator's voice rose.

"Perhaps you think you are being treated unfairly?" the Dark Lord countered calmly. Calrissian blanched at the quiet menace in Vader's voice. At once, his anger turned to fear. He met Vader's gaze for only a moment, before he was forced to look away. Athara was the opposite; she could feel her guilt and grief turning swiftly to anger.

"No," Calrissian eventually sighed, defeat written not only in his face, but his whole body.

"Good. It would be unfortunate if I had to leave a garrison here." Athara had to restrain herself, nearly snapping out her own comments on the matter, but a warning look from Vader quickly silenced her. For the first time since she left Dagobah, she felt Qui-gon's presence through the Force, urging her to calm herself and encouraging her to clear her thoughts. She had her own purpose here, and her fight against her own urges to give in to the call of the Dark Side were causing her to lose sight of that. She needed to get a grip on herself. Taking a deep breath, she began wrestling her emotions under control. It was too hard to shed them at the moment, so she settled for shoving them away as she used to do.

As the doors of the turbolift closed, Athara did nothing but watch. Fett was already striding down the hall, paying no attention to the rest of them. Beside her, Calrissian waited until the lift started moving before turning smartly on his heel, his anger once again bubbling to the surface, his hands clenching unconsciously into angry fists.

"This deal's getting worse all the time," he muttered bitterly under his breath. Athara couldn't help but agree. He paused as soon as the words left his mouth though, his gaze shifting to meet hers, a trace of his earlier fear returning. Athara didn't say a word, merely nodding instead, before turning on her own heel and leaving him to his musings. She didn't miss the sigh of relief when she turned away, and neither did she miss the considering look that appeared on his face.

As she waited for the turbolift to reappear, she heard Lando disappear down the hallway she realized led to where Han, Chewie and the Princess were being held. Impulsively, she abandoned her wait, and chose to follow him instead. Tailing him at a discreet distance, minimizing her presence and the chance of being noticed using the Force, she watched him collect a couple of his security guards before entering the cell the three Rebels were being held in. Unfortunately for her, two of the Guards remained outside the cell, preventing exactly the type of eavesdropping she was interested in doing. That Calrissian would willingly confront the friends he had just betrayed like this was curious. She needed to know what they discussed. If they were hatching escape plans…well, Athara wouldn't mind knowing so she could stay out of the way.

Or better yet, so she could help.

After thinking for a brief moment and scanning her surroundings, she ducked into a security hallway just before the main batch of cells, where she quickly found a terminal. As she hoped, there was an access to the primary security recording in the prisoner cells. It took her a moment to bypass the security measures and find the right one, but she was rather miffed that it was an audio-only feed. At least it was enough to let her listen in. Lando was already speaking as the audio initialized.

"—listen! Vader has agreed to turn Leia and Chewie over to me."

"Over to you?" Han was quiet, his voice betraying the residual pain he was invariably suffering as well as his confusion.

"They'll have to stay here, but at least they'll be safe," Calrissian's anxiety, though relatively well hidden, was beginning to leak into his voice. His confidence in Vader's newest caveat was also tenuous, the skepticism in his tone making that quite clear. He was learning, Athara couldn't help but note.

"What about Han?" Leia's normally calm voice was faintly tremulous. Athara cocked her head in thought at the subtle fear in the Princess’ tone, reaching out as she did to get a read on the emotions in the cell through the Force. It was too personal a fear; things must have changed between them.

"Vader's giving him to the bounty hunter." Calrissian's response obviously hit a cord within the Princess, as her response was instantly far more heated and clipped than a mere moment earlier. It confirmed things in Athara's mind; things had changed.

"Vader wants us all dead!"

"He doesn't want you at all. He's after somebody called—uh—Skywalker!" It was sounding more and more like Calrissian's desperation and anxiety were beginning to overwhelm him. Athara barely noticed though, Luke's name startling her. It obviously startled Han and Leia too.

"Luke?" Han's response was so quiet that Athara almost didn't hear it.

"Lord Vader has set a trap for him." As Calrissian spoke, the Sith apprentice could almost hear the gears in the Princess' mind whirring. Almost instantly she had pieced things together.

"And we're the bait."

"Well, he's on his way." She heard a faint scuffling as Calrissian paused. One of them, Han, her senses told her, had risen to his feet. When the smuggler spoke, Athara was taken aback by the quiet menace in his voice. She had never seen—or rather, heard or even felt—him this angry before.

"Perfect. You fixed us all pretty good, didn't you? My friend!" The unmistakable sound of a fist hitting a jaw punctuated Han's vehemence, leaving Athara to assume that he had taken a successful swing at the administrator. Immediately she could hear the sound of Calrissian's guard stepping forward, laying his own blows on Han's already battered body. Her hand flying to cover her mouth, Athara couldn't withhold her gasp at the pained sound of her friend crashing to the floor or the flare of pain she sensed from him as the guards' blasters connected with his flesh. Amid the sounds of the scuffle Chewie was growling, his voice building up to a roar. Not a moment too soon Calrissian brought his guards back into line.

"Stop!" He was weary and anxious, the desperation Athara had heard hints of earlier blatantly revealed now. "I've done all I can. I'm sorry I couldn't do better, but I have my own problems." She could imagine the sneer of contempt spreading across Han's face, but she couldn't listen anymore. Her hands shaking, she terminated the feed, silencing the conversation that was likely coming to a close anyway before swiftly turning away from the console and making her way toward the turbolift once again. She had listened in with the hopes that an escape plan might be brewing, but instead it had only served to shake her tenuous control loose again. They were all so angry. If she were to even offer help, would they accept it?

Probably not.

She was barely able to draw a steadying breath before she felt a presence approaching her from just ahead. Looking up, she was confronted by one of Vader's more minor officers. Giving a smart nod, the Lieutenant didn't wait for her acknowledgement before passing along his message.

"Lord Vader asks that you locate Administrator Calrissian at once and proceed to the carbon freeze facilities." Absently, Athara nodded and sent the officer on his way with a silent gesture. She was too busy trying to wrap her head around what this new bit of information meant. That Vader would want to meet in the city's carbon freeze facilities was immensely troubling. Sighing, she once again turned, walking back the way she came in order to collect Calrissian.

Thankfully, as she approached the administrator outside Han, Chewie and Leia's holding cell, he did not argue when she informed him of Vader's command. In fact, he barely reacted at all, nodding mutely before falling into step beside her along with his silent administrative aide Lobot. Neither did he say a word during the multiple turbolift rides to the city's carbon freeze facilities. Really, Athara didn't mind in the least. It allowed her the opportunity to subtly observe the administrator, as well as the chance to think on ways to turn the situation around.

Once the lift arrived on the appropriate floor, Calrissian immediately stepped ahead of Athara, leading the way into the noisy and shadowy facility. It was warm and close in the series of chambers, and the air held the stinging and distinct scent that often accompanied carbon-freezing equipment. It was not a pleasant place, and Athara could feel her skin crawling at the thought of spending any length of time among the shadowed mass of tubes, wiring and control paneling. They quickly reached the main platform, where Vader was already making his rounds, looking for all the universe like a black void amid the dimly lit machinery as he went about inspecting the equipment with his technologically keen eye. All around them, the porcine Ugnaughts were rushing around, finishing modifications and calibrations to the freezing platform. Athara wanted nothing more than to wrap her cloak tighter around her body and disappear into the deep shadows herself, the urge so strong that her hands twitched at her sides. She had a really bad feeling about this.

After a few final silent inspecting looks at the primary freezing mechanisms, Vader nodded faintly, obviously satisfied.

"This facility is crude, but it should be adequate to freeze Skywalker for his journey to the Emperor." Athara was shocked, and beside her she could feel Calrissian almost physically reeling from what Vader had just suggested. Off to the side, an officer approached Vader, his pace brisk and almost excited.

"Lord Vader, ship approaching. X-wing class." Athara couldn't breath, though a small, pained whimper escaped her lips when she heard the officer's message. At her sides, her fist clenched as she struggled not to react further. But the faint movement her response made caught Calrissian's attention, and he watched her critically for a moment, visibly perplexed by the sound she had made. She knew it had been a fool's hope that Luke would heed her and Yoda's pleas to stay away, but she had still allowed herself to hope anyway. As much as she had been longing to reunite with her Farmboy, his imminent arrival terrified her. Vader's pleasure at the news flooded through the chamber.

Athara felt sick.

"Good. Monitor Skywalker and allow him to land." By this point, Calrissian had turned his attention back to the Dark Lord, finally managing to collect himself.

"Lord Vader, we only use this facility for carbon-freezing. If you put him in there, it might kill him." It took Qui-gon's presence reappearing to keep Athara's panic at bay, and even then she was dangerously close to pulling from the Dark Side.

Hell, she was dangerously close to attacking Vader.

The administrator was right. Carbon-freezing a living organism, logically, could only result in the death of the subject. It was too traumatic a procedure. Athara had never even heard of it being attempted before, much less successfully so. And Vader wanted to subject Luke to the process? He was mad. Completely mad.

Vader was unperturbed by the Baron Administrator's insistence. "I do not want the Emperor's prize damaged. We will test it…on Captain Solo."


	18. Chapter 17

Athara felt numb inside as she stood in the carbon-freeze chamber, waiting for the three Rebel prisoners to arrive from their holding cell. It was the only way she could conceive of getting through what she knew was coming.

Vader was going to carbon-freeze Han. Her friend. She had scarcely a hope that he would survive. And after Han? Her Master was going to try it on Luke. The roiling nausea that Vader's callous pronouncement had caused in her gut had only intensified. It was unfathomable. But that didn't seem to deter Vader.

It was a means to an end for him. A desperate means. She couldn't wrap her head around what he was doing. He had refused to bring her before the Emperor. But then, she was a threat to Palpatine. She was loyal to Vader, and the Emperor knew that. She would never betray her Master for him. Yet Vader was so eager to bring him Luke, and she couldn't fathom why. Was it to distract the Emperor? To appease him? She knew she shouldn't be surprised that Palpatine wanted to get his hands on her Farmboy. Even though he was too old to be molded the way The Emperor preferred, Luke was far more powerful than anyone else she had encountered, save Palpatine himself and Vader.

It stood to reason, then, that Luke was intended to be more than a Hand to the Emperor. But Vader had to realize Palpatine meant to replace him with Luke! Almost the instant Athara had considered why the Emperor must want Luke, the realization that he was meant to replace her Master at Palpatine's side hit her like a physical blow. How could Vader not see it? Even though her tenuous faith in her Master had been explosively shaken yet again, she couldn't turn from him completely. There had to be something more! Something she was missing. There was no logic to what Vader was doing. After years of thinking she knew Vader better than anyone, Athara was beginning to realize she had barely known him at all. There was more to this than just delivering the Emperor a prize, and it was driving her mad.

Thankfully, Qui-gon's presence had stayed with her since she found out the true extent of Vader's plan. Never had she been more grateful for his support than in the underbelly of Cloud City. It was all she could do to keep from screaming, shaking, or crying by keeping the numbness in place. On one hand, her rage was beginning to simmer just below the surface, fuelled by the helplessness that seemed to press against her chest, making it hard to breathe. On the other her pain threatened to cripple her, as it seemed to physically cause her body to ache with it. But with the Force-spirit's steady calm, she was able to keep it all below the surface. On the outside, she was cool and unaffected. Inside, she was on the verge of falling apart. She had run out of time. She had failed to save her friends. It was only Qui-gon's presence and his reminder that she had a purpose that gave her the means to stay strong. Though she wasn't able to shed any of her fears or her anger, his presence was a constant reminder that she had to at least keep it under control. If she didn't let herself feel anything, she could get through this.

If only her hands would stop shaking beneath her cloak...

Her first test came when the prisoners were escorted into the carbon-freeze chamber. She almost didn't pass, feeling faint as they entered the hazy, sour-smelling room. At her sides, her fists clenched tighter, the pain of her nails digging into her flesh clearing her mind ever so slightly. It was enough. Around them, the Ugnaughts were busy bustling around, seeing to last minute preparations. Behind her, Vader entered the chamber the same time as her friends, coming to stand beside her. His armour gleamed dully as he stared ahead to the machinery before him. He was so deep in thought Athara wasn't quite sure if he had even noticed Fett approaching them. She noticed.

She saw every detail; the stricken look on Calrissian's face when Han sidled up next to him; the almost comical way the dismembered Threepio was strapped to Chewie's back; the murderous way Leia was staring at her. It was actually that stare that almost undid the Sith apprentice. She recognized the loathing in the Princess's eyes; in that moment, she felt the same way about herself. As the troopers had brought the small group to a stop, Fett stopped at Vader's side, stepping in front of Athara, his hands on his blaster. It was likely an unconscious gesture, but a little part of Athara hoped Vader would take offense and remove the bounty hunter, preferably permanently. Unfortunately, he was too focused on the impending procedure to care about the bounty hunter's aggression.

"What if he doesn't survive? He's worth a lot to me," Fett's tone was clipped and angry. It would seem he was just about as unhappy about Vader's experiment as everyone else. Vader dismissed his concern with a curt gesture.

"The Empire will compensate you if he dies. Put him in!" On the other side of the platform, Chewie wailed, though that wail quickly turned to a roar as he began to lay about with his fearsome claws and long arms, sending troopers flying. From his back Threepio began wailing himself, though the raging wookiee mostly drowned him out.

Beside Vader, Fett sprang into action, whipping his blaster up even as more troopers arrived to subdue Chewie. Athara didn't even realize she had stepped forward herself until she felt her hand close over the barrel of the bounty hunter's weapon, forcing it down. Though she knew he couldn't see into her cowl, she fixed the Mandalorian with a stare that still managed to make him shift uneasily. Behind him, Vader fixed her with a stare of his own. But just what that stare meant, she couldn't tell.

Across the way, Han broke away from the trooper holding him. A nod from Vader stilled the trooper as he tried to grab his wayward prisoner. It was a good thing too, because the sound of Han's voice stilled his raging co-pilot.

"Stop, Chewie! Hey, Hey! Listen to me! Chewie!" With one final moan Chewie's rage deflated, and a pair of troopers finally managed to wrestle a set of binders around his wrists. All fight went out of him only to be replaced with despair at Han's intense look. Leia glared daggers at Athara and Vader. Han didn't notice, though. He was too focused on calming his friend.

"Chewie, this won't help me. Hey! Save your strength. There'll be another time." Athara started when the smuggler shot her a fleeting glance. It was so quick she almost thought she had imagined it, but he had. But it wasn't reproach or hatred in his eyes, it was something else, something she hadn't expected or dared hope for; consideration. Maybe he had seen how she grabbed Fett's blaster, or how she had wavered when the troopers brought them in? She didn't know. But somehow he suspected she was still on their side, and they both knew there was nothing she could do to stop this.

The wookiee looked balefully away from his friend, but after a moment he swallowed whatever objections he had, though he still refused to look Han in the eye. Solo wasn't perturbed though. "The Princess—you have to take care of her. You hear me?" The intensity in Han's eyes as he gave Chewie his final request was heart-wrenching, and it was all Athara could do not to let her tears fall.

He loved the Princess; that was why he said that. As it was, Athara couldn't withhold the pained sigh that escaped her lips. Beside them, Leia stepped forward, burying her hands in the wookiee's fur as she took hold of his arm. The Princess and the wookiee's eyes met for a moment, Leia almost managing a tiny, reassuring smile as Chewie once again found his resolve, his shoulders straightening minutely. Athara could see the change in his eyes. He intended to witness what ever happened with dignity, in honour of his friend, no matter how distraught and heartbroken he really felt. It was then that Han turned to Leia, the sorrow in his eyes a mirror of hers.

Their kiss was searing, passionate and tragic and Athara couldn't bring herself to witness it. It was too private, something meant only for the two of them. So she allowed them that, even if no one else did. She couldn't help but shift her glance to Vader, though. He was watching, his mask emotionless, but beneath…

Hope stirred within her.

There was so much turmoil there, so much pain and despair. It was a split-second of insight, and then it was gone. But it was a hint of just how broken the man was. Somewhere, deep down, he did still feel. Yet he was resolved to his task anyway. A sob threatened to tear from Athara's throat. She felt Qui-gon's presence nudge against her consciousness, helping her regain control. She knew what was coming next. The troopers had pulled the smuggler from his Princess, backing him up to the platform. Tears began to stream down Leia's face as she called out to him.

"I love you!" Her words brought the ghost of his crooked smile to Han's lips.

"I know." It was the last thing he said as a pair of Ugnaughts removed his binders before the platform began to lower, the mechanisms groaning ominously amid the hissing and shrieking within the cavernous chamber. Athara forced herself to watch. She may not have been able to stop it, but she could at least do that. Chewie began to wail again, a vow of sorts that Athara didn't quite have the grasp of his language to understand. But it was heartrending. Tears began to stream down her cheeks, but she no longer cared.

Then Vader gestured to the technician and Han was veiled from sight by the clouds of steam that flooded the chamber. As the steam cleared the freezing equipment went to work. A set of massive tongs lowered from above, enclosing her friend in their merciless grasp. The machine shrieked.

It echoed precisely the sound that Athara fought to hold inside.

Then it was over.

A great groaning and grinding filled the chamber as the tongs lifted, revealing Han encased completely in carbonite. Athara nearly lost the contents of her stomach when she saw him, her hands flying up to cover her mouth in shock and revulsion. She longed to cover her eyes too, but she couldn't tear her gaze away. Across the way, Leia and Chewie clung to each other; the horror and grief on both their faces was indescribable. Vader was as still as a statue. Calrissian started forward, only to be stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of Han's face, frozen in agony. Two Ugnaughts ducked around him then, intent on their jobs as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Athara fought back her rage, struggling to keep it under control.

The two workers tipped the block of carbonite that encased the pirate. The resounding clap of the block hitting the floor was deafening, and it rattled Athara to the core. It was then that Chewie finally turned away in pain. On his back, the golden droid nattered away, oblivious to the state of his companions.

"Oh…they've encased him in carbonite. He should be quite well-protected—if he survived the freezing process, that is." Lando jerked slightly before sedately stepping forward to kneel beside his frozen friend, bending to examine the reading displayed on the block's housing. Athara's gaze shot to the Princess and the wookiee for a moment before it was drawn back to the Administrator. Everyone was watching the former pirate anxiously, Vader included, who even took an uneasy step forward. Lando didn't say anything, his face curiously blank. He stared at the panel, making an adjustment after a moment. Vader's impatience got the best of him, though he only beat Athara by a heartbeat.

"Well, Calrissian, did he survive?" Lando sighed heavily; the first real reaction he had given since kneeling beside Han.

"Yes, he's alive. And in perfect hibernation." The entire room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Athara's eyes closed in thanks, mentally brushing against Qui-gon's consciousness. Her friend had survived.

Cautiously, she reached out with the Force, brushing up against Han's life-force, confirming that he was indeed alive. She almost wished she hadn't. Though feeling for herself that he was indeed alive was reassuring, she couldn't help but recoil as quickly as possible. Once again, bile rose in her throat. It was so wrong. He was there, but wasn't; frozen; alive, yet painfully lifeless. She couldn't breath again. Vader nodded contentedly beside her before turning to the bounty hunter at his side.

"He's all yours, Bounty Hunter." Before Fett could even respond, Vader had already turned away, "Reset the chamber for Skywalker." As the Ugnaughts began scrambling around again, one of Vader's officers hurried into the room, reaching Vader's side in an instant. Thankfully, though, this officer seemed more anxious than excited, unlike the last few officers who had relayed updates to Vader. Had he been excited, well, Athara wasn't sure she would have been able to restrain herself from crushing that excitement.

"Skywalker has just landed, My Lord." And then her rage deflated. There was no doubt that Vader was pleased by the news. Under his mask, he had to be smiling.

"Good. See to it that he finds his way here," he paused, turning to the city's administrator, "Calrissian, take the Princess and the Wookiee to my ship." The former pirate's expression of shock and panic matched Athara's precisely.

"You said they'd be left in the city under my supervision," came his outraged protest.

"I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further." Without another word, Vader turned, striding from the chamber after fixing Calrissian with one final stare. The administrator blanched at the threat, his hand unconsciously reaching for his throat, a gesture that Athara didn't fail to notice.

It was then that an idea came to her.

As a series of troopers began to file into the chamber to assist Fett it taking away Han's frozen form, Athara silently stepped up to Calrissian's side. All eyes, including his, were fixed on the carbonite block being loaded onto the repulsorlift.

"I hear there is a lovely view from the security tower." Cloud City's administrator jerked at the sound of her voice, his dark eyes flashing with a combination of confusion, mistrust and, perhaps most importantly, curiosity. Athara took that as a sign to continue, pitching her voice so that the din of the chamber prevented any unwanted listeners. "Perhaps some of our Imperial friends would appreciate seeing it before escorting the Princess and the wookiee onto Vader's shuttle. And, you know, Fett might as well…" She let the comment hang, waiting for the Administrator to process her words. Lando nodded slightly, a new focus in his gaze before he flashed her his winning smile.

"Perhaps you're right. It would be a shame for them to miss out on such a lovely view." Athara smiled within the depths of her hood and began to walk away, but a small thought made her turn back to him for a moment after a quick check that they were still largely unobserved.

"Best not to mention my—suggestion to the Princess, I think," at Lando's quizzical expression she quietly elaborated, "She doesn't exactly trust me right now." Lando gave her a skeptical look.

"And you think she trusts me? What did you do to earn her distrust? I helped Vader capture them." Athara smiled as a response came to mind, but managed to hold back a sudden urge to laugh.

"Let's just say I took her ship and leave it at that, shall we?" With a final smirk, she turned on her heel and strode away, not failing to notice Calrissian turning to conference with his aide, Lobot. Judging by the way the wheels seemed to be turning in Calrissian's head, he already had a plan for putting Athara's suggestion into action.

In the meantime, Athara had to figure out some plans of her own, namely, how to keep her Farmboy out of Vader's hands. Thankfully, the troop commander she cornered outside of the freezing chamber had the information she needed; the landing platform where Luke's ship had just landed. If she hurried, there was a good chance she could head him off. They could figure out what to do from there, but she needed to find Luke first.

As she rushed through the cramped lower corridors toward the upper concourse, she commed N3, instructing him to meet her at Platform 113 with the few possessions she had left in her temporary quarters. She would need the little droid to confirm the X-wing was untouched and help her see to transportation of her own. After all, there was no way she was getting out on the _Falcon_ with the Princess and Chewie. Plus there was the added complication that, if she had heard right earlier, the hyperdrive on the _Falcon_ was deactivated anyway.

It took what felt like a painfully long time to make it out of the bowels of the city to the upper levels, and longer still to reach the landing platform. Thankfully, N3 was already waiting for her when she arrived and there were only two troopers standing watch over the Rebel ship, and it was laughably easy to convince them to allow N3 access to the fighter. She hadn't even needed to use any mind-tricks.

But Athara hadn't encountered Luke on her dash up to the platform. Panic flared within her for a brief moment at the prospect of having missed him, but she soon had the feeling under control. She still needed to figure out what to do next. By now Lando should have taken care of the Stormtroopers escorting the two remaining Rebels, and with them should be about to head off Fett and Han.

Then she remembered Luke had Artoo with him. As the platform itself was devoid of anyone save Athara, N3 and the two troopers by the platform entrance, he must have followed Luke for as long as he could. She doubted that the little droid would have managed to accompany her Farmboy terribly far, and would invariably find his way back to the _Falcon_ , likely after plugging into the city's central computer at least once; a more indomitable little droid Athara had never met. Looking down to where N3 chortled along beside her, a second idea popped into her head. It was a long shot, but it was worth a try. Spotting a terminal near the doors to the platform, she immediately directed N3 over to it, relating her idea to the little green droid as they went.

As her astro droid left her message with the city's computer, Athara reached out with the Force, trying to discern where Luke was at that moment. She needed to find him and get him out quickly. After a few heart-pounding moments, she finally managed to locate him.

Her heart sank to her boots.

He was already with Vader, he just didn't know it yet. Fear welled in her throat, and before she could think on it she was already racing back toward the carbon-freeze chamber.

If the trip up from the city's underbelly had seemed long, the journey back down seemed to take a lifetime. Athara's heart was in her throat the entire way, relentlessly tearing at her control over her feelings. It was only thanks to Qui-gon's calming presence at her side that she didn't give in and let her rage take over. Somehow, she managed to keep her Darkness at bay, though she worried at just how long she would manage to keep it in check.

Especially as she could now feel that Luke had met Vader.

For the first time since she was racing toward Hoth, the sense of foreboding that stemmed from her now rare visions returned in full force. It would seem that the looming fight between her Master and her Farmboy was destined. That didn't make her like it any more, though. Especially as that foreboding was accompanied by dread. But, as she got closer, she pushed the feelings away; any minute she'd catch up with the fighting pair as they wound their way through the processing vane that housed the carbon-freezing facility. She could stop it.

It was not going to be easy, though.

As she reached the entrance to the transport tunnel that connected the vane to the rest of the city's facilities, the young Sith was waylaid by a handful of troopers.

"I'm sorry, Milady. Lord Vader has given strict instructions that no one is to enter until he gives word himself," the Commander said to her. Normally, she would have talked him around to letting her pass; she was Vader's Shadow, surely the Commander had to realize that it was not Vader's intention for him to prevent her entrance, etc. But she didn't have the patience and simply wasn't in the mood to spend the time necessary to bend the Commander's will to her own. She could feel Qui-gon cautioning her to be careful, and she was sure that had he decided to speak, he would have reminded her not to give into her frustration. She took the reminder to heart…a little.

With a single, almost lazy wave of her hand, she slammed troopers back against the walls of the vestibule, not even waiting for their unconscious bodies to hit the ground before surging forward through the tunnel, probing with the Force as she went to try and discern Luke's location.

But Vader had apparently felt her coming. He was blocking her, making it impossible to pinpoint precisely where they were within the structure. Thankfully for her, at that moment, Vader let out a surge of energy with the Force, causing the processing vane to shudder.

Its strength nearly threw Athara off balance, but it was enough to lead her directly to him. Nearby, many of the myriad monitoring stations that littered the facility began to flash and wail, signalling a pressurization breech.

Thanking the Force for her stroke of luck, Athara was at the panel in seconds, pinpointing the exact location of the breached viewport that she was willing to bet Vader was responsible for.

Athara had never considered herself to be claustrophobic, but the ride up to the level where the breach had occurred was one of the most harrowing of her life, the very walls of the lift feeling as though they were crushing in on her, such was the strength of her anxiety. She could feel Vader's frustration at Luke's unwillingness to submit mingling with a measure of satisfaction that the Force was so strong with Luke.

The instant the doors opened she once again shot forward, wending her way through the dimly lit corridors. It was easy to follow the path that her Master and Luke had taken. There was a great deal of unmistakable lightsaber damage scarring the walls leading right to the shattered viewport that was the source of the pressurization breech. The instant she entered the control room where the viewport was located, the cowl was torn from her face, the fierce gusts from the reactor shaft outside tugging at her cloak, pulling and winding it around her. But there was no sign of Luke or Vader. She didn't understand…they had to be here!

Then, amid the howling of the wind blowing over the now open viewport, she heard the distinctive sound of lightsabers.

They were out in the reactor shaft.

In an instant, Athara was at the gaping hole in the plexi, though she had to hold tight to the remaining frame to prevent being pulled out of the viewport herself. Despite the pressure equalizing since the plexi was shattered, the drafts out in the shaft were still strong enough to suck a person clear out of the chamber. It was then she saw them.

Both Vader and Luke were edging their way along the walkway toward the sensor array projecting onto the centre of the reactor shaft. Her Farmboy was visibly beginning to tire and he was quickly losing ground against Vader's assault. Desperately, she tried to reach out to Luke through the Force, but Vader was blocking her. She had no way to reach Luke. He likely didn't even know she was there. He just continued to retreat from his adversary's ruby blade, his parries coming slower as Vader kept on relentlessly. In one last desperate exchange, the young Jedi managed to land a glancing blow to Vader's shoulder, allowing him an instant to dash away, but he had nowhere to go. He had reached the end of the gantry. So he turned to fight. Even from where Athara was she could see from his body language that he was resigned to whatever fate was coming. Athara wasn't; the panic once more surged within her, and she could barely breathe for fear. It took almost nothing for Vader to turn her Farmboy's pale blade away; Luke had nothing left.

And then the blade sliced through his wrist. Athara nearly screamed as she watched the red blade that was nearly as familiar as her own take Luke's hand. The sweep of Vader's blade had seemed to come out of nowhere, changing its trajectory faster than the eye could blink. Luke never had a chance to block. Even through the almost deafening gusts that filled the shaft, Athara could hear Luke's howl of pain. It was with agonizing fascination that she saw his hand spiralling away into the depths of the reactor shaft, buffeted by the very gusts that were tugging so insistently at her. All she saw was Luke's lightsaber falling away. The fury had begun rising within her, her eyes burning ever so slightly as the colour began to change. Qui-gon’s presence was conspicuously absent. Vader still had her lightsaber, and she had left Kenobi's blue blade safely hidden in one of N3's many compartments.

So she reached out through the Force, prying Luke's lightsaber from the lingering grip of his lost hand and calling it into her own palm. The metal of the hilt was still warm from Luke's touch. Then she prepared to jump, her anger growing unchecked within her.

She was jolted from her growing fury when a wave of anguish and disbelief from her Farmboy surged through her from the Force. Her gaze shot to Luke where he dangled from the sensor array, Vader standing menacingly over him. Over the wind another howl came to her, echoing the feelings she was sensing through the Force.

Unlike mere moments earlier, when Vader took Luke's hand, what happened next seemed like it was happening in slow motion. Her Master stood over her Farmboy, his hand outstretched, beseeching the young Jedi, though she was too far away to hear a word over the violent gusts. Luke dangled precariously over the chasm of the Reactor, clinging to the Sensor Array with his maimed arm clutched close to his chest. Then the Force grew calm, the disturbance created by Luke's pain melting away. And Luke let go.

This time Athara did scream. Without thinking, she leaped from the shattered viewport to the gantry below. As soon as her boots met the walkway she was off, racing to the railing that looked out into the reactor shaft. But she could only watch as Luke plummeted down, buffeted by the gusts that filled the shaft. And then he was gone, sucked into one of the exhaust ports that dotted the walls of the reactor shaft.

She was alone with Vader. She could feel him edging back along the walkway toward her, grimly satisfied. The fury began to build within her again. As the Dark Lord reached her, she spun to face him, her golden eyes glinting in the low light.

At first neither of them spoke, each surveying the other. The lightsaber in her hand ignited almost of its own volition, bathing her in its blue glow. Her Master's saber remained unlit in his hand. It would be so easy...

Around them the wind still howled, but standing as close to the vane walls as they were, its volume was substantially lessened. She could actually hear Vader's respirator. Athara finally drew a breath to speak, but Vader was the first to break the silence between them.

"You have fallen in love with him, haven't you." It was not at all what she expected him to say, and it was enough to once again jolt her from the rage growing within her. She couldn't answer him, but she knew that he wasn't expecting her to. She had stopped hiding her feelings the instant Vader sliced off her Farmboy's hand; her fear for him had given the depth of her feelings away.

The lightsaber in her hand snapped off.

If he'd been capable, Athara was sure that he would have sighed. His gaze dropped from her face, falling to the lightsaber she still had clutched in her fist. The swirl of emotion coming from him was baffling. His posture shifted, suggesting another stymied sigh, though this one would have been distinctively regretful if she could trust what she sensed from him.

"I should have known Obi-wan would have given him my old lightsaber," he intoned. It was spoken as if only to himself, but Athara heard it as easily as if he had yelled at her. Her own gaze dropped to Luke's lightsaber. It was a long moment before the gravity of what he said sunk in. As if of its own accord, her gaze was drawn to the lightsaber Vader held in his own fist, the one Athara recognized as readily as her own.

The two blades were brothers.

Athara couldn't breathe. The final pieces of the puzzle had clicked into place.

He'd been hunting his own son.


	19. Chapter 18

She could only meet Vader's gaze, her own eyes widening with disbelief and anguish of her own. She tried to speak, but she couldn't find the words. The feeling of betrayal hit her like a punch in the gut.

He'd been hunting his own son.

Luke was Vader's son.

Gasping for air, Athara turned and ran, ignoring the tears of shock that threatened as she bolted for the surface of the city. She needed to escape. She needed to get away from him. In moments she was in the turbolift down to the tunnel, and minutes after that she was in another turbolift, speeding toward the city's concourse.

It was then that her legs gave way as the feelings that accompanied Vader's revelation crashed in on her. In an instant Qui-gon was there, comforting her, corporeal as she had only seen him on Dagobah. Looking up, tears streaming down her cheeks, she met his gentle gaze.

"Did you know? Does _he_ know?" She barely managed to choke out the words. She knew he'd know who she meant; her Farmboy. She knew the answer already, but that didn't stop her from asking. The Jedi's eyes were the only answer she needed; they met her gaze with nothing but sympathy...and affirmation. Athara could only close her eyes against the renewed wave of grief. She didn't even know whom it was for, really. Herself, maybe, because things were now irrevocably changed between her and Vader. For Vader, who was hunting his own child, bound by his loyalty to the Emperor to either turn his son or kill him. But most acutely for Luke, who now knew a terrible truth, and had a heartbreaking task ahead of him.

"He's going to need your help, Athara, just as you are going to need his." Qui-gon's voice was quiet, but it cut through the silence of the turbolift like a knife.

Luke. Athara's eyes shot open. Luke was still alive. She hadn't even had to reach out to find him, she just knew. It was then, as if prompted by Qui-gon's reminder, that she heard him in her head, calling out for help, sounding more exhausted and pained than she'd ever heard before. _Tamara._ Reaching out, she could feel him calling through the Force, not just to her, looking for any sort of help. Reaching out further with her own senses, Athara began searching the underbelly of the city for any hint of her Farmboy through the Force. She needed to find him.

And she did. He was literally dangling from the bottom of the city. She didn't have time to dwell, though, not even to try brushing against his own thoughts with hers, because at that moment the turbolift doors opened. She knew exactly where she needed to go.

Thankfully she was close to the platform where Luke's X-wing was waiting, and in moments she was racing through the doors toward the snub fighter. With an anxious wave she sent the two troopers standing watch back onto the wall behind them. N3 chattered worriedly at her, but without a word she lifted the astro droid up onto the fighter. He took the hint, and within moments was settling himself into the fighter's droid socket and firing up primary systems.

Then a blasterbolt went sizzling past her ear; evidently she had been too distracted to knock the guards out properly. Another burned past her thigh, scorching her pant leg, causing a stinging burn to bloom on her skin. In a flash Luke's lightsaber was in her hand, its blue blade springing to life under her fingers. The blade spun in a single whirling arc, deftly deflecting the incoming bolts back from where they'd come. The two troopers crumpled. But she was already turning back to the fighter, the lightsaber once again safely clipped to her belt.

It took Athara a moment to find the flight suit, and another to somewhat shrug it on over her tunic and breeches. She didn't even bother to remove her cloak, she was in such a hurry. She was briefly interrupted, though, when a glint out of the corner of her eye drew her attention. Instinctively her hand fell to where the lightsaber lay beneath the flight suit. Not only was it a futile impulse, but it was an unnecessary one. It was a ship off in the distance that had caught her eye. A surge of relief went through her as she recognized the distinctive silhouette racing back toward the city, angling to pass underneath it.

In another moment she was climbing into the fighter, settling herself in as N3 took the liberty of sealing the cockpit. In another moment they were off. On the far side of the city she could see what could only be Vader's shuttle similarly lifting off, leaving the city behind.

All feelings of relief vanished when, as Vader's shuttle disappeared up into the clouds, three TIE fighters descended, quickly disappearing beyond the edge of the city. In an instant, Athara was in hot pursuit.

She had been right to follow them, for as she came up under the city she caught sight of them opening fire on the _Falcon_ , which was thankfully already speeding away. A quick check through the Force confirmed that they had retrieved a weak but, thankfully, still alive Luke. This time she was able to brush against his thoughts with the Force, and the relief that trickled back to her was infinitely more reassuring than she could have anticipated.

They were all out of the atmosphere before she managed to catch up. As she did, though, she realized the TIEs were only under orders to harry the _Falcon_. None of them seemed to be trying with any real effort to stop it, only herd it or even disable it. Then, as the four small ships and the freighter cleared the atmosphere, they saw her. Even though she had already prepared the fighter for attack, having locked the S-foils and prepped the firing generators shortly after takeoff, she couldn't help but groan. Sometimes she really hated flying…

Before any of them quite managed to peel off to engage her, she took one of the TIEs out, severing one of the solar arrays with a swath of laser fire. Then the second one was upon her, the third having stayed with the _Falcon_. She only needed to hold it off long enough for the _Falcon_ to get away, though. That was, if Artoo had gotten the message, or was even on the freighter. It was taking too long. The _Falcon_ should have jumped to lightspeed by now. She pushed that anxiety away rather forcefully. She had more pressing issues at the moment.

They continued on for several long minutes, the four ships dancing around each other in intricate choreography, all the while trying to either get closer to the looming Super Star Destroyer, or stay away from it. Thankfully, as the freighter and its trailing fighters skimmed along the hull of the _Executor_ , Athara managed to knock out the TIE still harassing the _Falcon_ , causing it to careen into the monstrous Star Destroyer with a fiery impact. There was only one left following Athara, though it seemed a little confused for a moment as to whether it should try to finish her or take up pursuit of the _Falcon_.

At one point, Athara felt Vader brush against her consciousness through the Force, but it was only fleeting; the instant she felt him, she shoved his consciousness away almost violently. She wasn't interested in confronting all that now.

Then, in an instant, the _Falcon_ was gone, surging forward into hyperspace. Relief nearly overpowered her then. Luke was safe. As if reading her mind, N3 almost immediately had the navicomputer programmed and ready with a worried, questioning chortle. After one final course-correction to avoid a barrage of laser fire from her pursuing TIE fighter, Athara too sent her ship careening into hyperspace.

The series of hyperspace jumps to the rendezvous point turned out to be one of the longest trips she'd ever experienced, or at least, it certainly felt like it. Worry over Luke and the rest of her friends plagued her and, though she was desperately trying not to think about it, Vader's revelation pressed on her mind.

She should have seen it. Now that she knew the truth, it seemed blatantly obvious that Luke was Vader's son. That Vader was once Anakin Skywalker. Vader's hesitance to return to Tatooine; he was from there, and never wanted to return. Luke was from Tatooine, living with his father's brother. Vader's obsession with discovering Luke's identity and finding him; he was the son he hadn't known he had. The eagerness with which Vader had tried to speak with her about Luke. The clues scattered through the story Luke told her about Kenobi, Vader and his father. She'd always thought Kenobi had seemed rather vguie and even cryptic with what he'd told Luke about his father. All his misdirection made sense now. But again, upon knowing the truth, Kenobi had never quite lied either. He had obviously been immensely careful in his wording, careful to shield Luke from the heartbreaking truth while not lying to him outright.

Plus there were all her readings about Kenobi, and by extension, Anakin Skywalker. Now that she knew, there were so many parallels in the references to The Hero with No Fear and the Dark Lord of the Sith; the same fearlessness, the astonishing piloting skills, the technologically keen mind. Even when thinking back to the few Holonet recordings N3 had managed to dig up, there had been something about Skywalker's fighting style that had seemed so familiar; she'd recognized the styles and forms that Vader still used, only she hadn't made the connection. More than that, now that she thought on it, she realized with a jolt that Skywalker was the only apprentice of Kenobi's ever mentioned in the files. Had Vader also been an apprentice of Kenobi's as Luke had believed, surely there would have been some mention of another apprentice. Athara had never before felt so blind.

It was the lightsabers, though, that were the greatest giveaway to her. She knew from her own experience that a lightsaber was unique to its owner, and no matter how many a Sith or a Jedi made, each incarnation would look and act like its predecessor. And she had seen a lot of lightsabers; when she was young, Vader had taken her to see the Emperor's collection of Jedi lightsabers, his trophies. Only a few had really looked anything alike, and Vader had explained that that was because apprentices often made lightsabers that resembled that of their Masters', but even then there were always marked differences that were borne of personal preference. Her lightsaber for instance, though slimmer and lighter to suit her smaller hands and stature, did indeed loosely resemble her Master's.

Luke's lightsaber and Vader's could have been twins.

Still, the Anakin Skywalker she had read about was not quite the same man she had known as her Master. There were similarities, yes, but many differences.

But now that she thought about it, she was beginning to wonder at who it was that actually raised her. The more she thought about it, the more she could see that the side of Vader that had cared for and protected her was almost a different person from the Vader that was feared throughout the Galaxy. Her Vader had a measure—slight as it may be—of compassion, kindness and, well, humanity in him that Lord Vader lacked. He had still been a hard, even ruthless teacher at times, but that understanding side was what had made him a surprisingly good mentor.

She also remembered the way Vader's hand had closed around her tiny one the day he had taken her away from the Jengals, and the almost gentle way he had instructed her to hold a lightsaber for the first time, or the way he would lay a hand on her head before leaving on a mission when she was still small. The way he had sounded when he told her to run rather than take her to the Emperor. Could that have been a bit of Anakin breaking through the Darkness that was Vader?

Before Bespin, she had come to believe that, like her, he was just lost, and that there was a side of him that was struggling to break free from the Dark Side. All the turmoil that she felt in him, like he was fighting himself? It made sense now. It was the good in him, his memories and his instincts, fighting the draw of the Dark Side. The more she thought on it, the more and more certain she was that Anakin was trapped somewhere inside Vader, and that that small glimmer of Light in her Master is what she had come to love and respect.

But, upon coming out of hyperspace, there was no more time to think on it. A sigh of relief escaped her when she caught sight of the _Falcon_ docked with the medical frigate, _Redemption_. But Athara was wary of rejoining the Fleet. She had no way of knowing just what Leia had passed on to the rest of the Rebel High Command. She could be walking into a trap laid specially for her. Or, if Leia were too focused on Luke and Han, it would be as if nothing had changed. As she approached the medical frigate, she took a moment to clear her mind, trying to find the sense of calm that eluded her.

Honestly, though, she didn't really care anymore if she was captured. It was inevitable. Even if Leia hadn't relayed the truth of her identity yet, there was no way that the Princess would keep the information to herself when Athara showed up. And better a prisoner of the Alliance than the Empire; at least the Alliance wasn't trying to kill her...

Athara only needed to see Luke. She needed to know that he was all right.

As she approached the _Redemption_ she transmitted her code clearance, and after a moment her comm briefly erupted in static before the connection stabilized and the voice on the other end was audible.

"X-wing fighter, identify yourself." She didn't recognize the voice. Now was the moment of truth.

"This is Captain Tamara, requesting permission tocome aboard."

"Forgive me, Captain, but the transponder on your ship is a match for Commander Skywalker's fighter."

"I am aware. I was with him, Captain Solo and Princess Leia on Bespin. My fighter was destroyed, so I took Commander Skywalker's ship when he was brought onboard the _Falcon_." The comm was silent for a few moments. After taking a steadying breath, she pressed on. "Please. Skywalker was injured, I need to see that he's alright." Still the comm was silent, but after a moment, the voice returned.

"Permission to dock granted. Please proceed to the landing bay." Again, she couldn't hold back her sigh of relief. She was still wary, though. She had no idea what was waiting for her in the _Redemption_ 's lone landing bay. Even so, she didn't hesitate to land, and neither did she hesitate to leave the fighter the instant it came to a stop.

In moments she had shrugged out of the bright orange flightsuit and was racing from the bay. She didn't even stop to ask for directions, allowing the Force to guide her towards Luke's unmistakable presence. Once again, she felt Qui-gon's presence arrive, silently urging caution. She didn't care in that moment. She would use caution after she found Luke.

As the door to Luke's room whirred open, the former Sith realized why Qui-gon had been urging caution. Standing silhouetted against the broad viewscreen were Luke and Leia, her Farmboy's arm around the Princess' shoulders, Threepio and Artoo standing just off to the side as they looked out on the baby star that dominated the system. Beyond the transparesteel viewport, Athara could just make out the _Falcon_ soaring away from the frigate. She could feel the uncertainty and heartache coming from the both of them, as well as the comfort they were providing for each other. It was such a tranquil scene, that Athara was almost loath the disturb it.

But the moment ended when Luke sensed her presence. In an instant, he had turned, his blue eyes lighting up with relief at the sight of her. Athara could barely restrain herself. She completely ignored the fury that appeared in the Princess' eyes, instead focusing wholly on Luke. He was alright and he was alive.

That was all that mattered.

She didn't even realize she was walking toward him until she felt his arms close around her, her own arms snaking around his shoulders, not quite believing he was alright.

"I was so worried, Tamara. When I didn't see you in Cloud City, I began fearing the worst. And then when I felt you through the Force—" he trailed off, not quite able to put his relief into words. A small stab of pain went through her when he spoke. He still didn't know her real name. But before she could say anything, Leia made her angry presence known.

"You!" There was so much anger in her voice that Luke and Athara all but jerked apart, both stunned at the fury pouring off the petite Princess. Confusion sprang to Luke's face when he saw the expression on his friend's. In a heartbeat the Princess had strode past the two of them to sound the alarm. A red light began flashing overhead. Athara felt her own anger beginning to rise, but she hurriedly tried to stamp it down. Luke, meanwhile, was utterly bewildered. Athara felt his arm tighten around her waist, pulling her a little closer. She fought the urge to tighten her own grip on his arm.

"Leia, what are you—" But the Princess didn't give him a chance to finish, rounding on the pair of Force-sensitives. Her dark eyes flashed when they locked on Athara.

"How dare you show your face here! After everything you've done!"

"Leia! What has gotten into you?!" The bewilderment on Luke's face was darkening to frustration. Athara, though, barely heard him.

"I'm here because of him, Princess. That's all." Leia scowled at the bite in Athara's tone, answering with an equally scathing retort.

"That's all? Why? So you can try to kill him too? Or are you here to take his other hand?" Athara couldn't help but blanche, the echo of her earlier fear jolting her out of the dark spiral she had begun descending into.

"I had nothing to do with that." No one missed how hollowed out the former Sith's voice sounded, or the threads of guilt that wove through it. Leia only raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Really. And I suppose you had nothing to do with our capture or Han being frozen, either." Athara nearly growled at that, her anger sparking again.

"I told you. Fett is the one who brought Vader to Bespin. Not me."

"But you just stood by." By now, Luke was looking at her in bewilderment, not the Princess. Athara jerked away from Luke when the Princess said that, turning her back on her Farmboy. She couldn't face the pained and confused look growing on Luke's face. It was true. She had just stood by. Now the anger rising in her wasn't just aimed at the Princess, but at herself. Behind them, a handful of guards entered the room, blasters cautiously at the ready. The Princess pressed on, encouraged by the effect she was having on the Sith apprentice.

"You let him torment us, torture us! You just watched when he had Han frozen in _carbonite_!"

"You think I had a choice?" Athara snapped out, beginning to lose control of her anger. She could feel her eyes beginning to burn again, the yellow she had tried so hard to banish on her way to the Fleet returning. Qui-gon chose that moment to try and reach out to her, but Athara pushed him away. Leia let out a bitter laugh.

"No. I suppose you didn't," the Princess turned to the guards, "take her into custody." Athara closed her eyes, fighting her growing anger. They hesitated for a moment—she made them uneasy—but two of them did cautiously approach her, one fastening a set of binders around her wrists, while the remaining two reluctantly trained their blasters on the Sith apprentice. Luke all but rounded on Leia.

"Leia, what is the meaning of this? What is going on! Tamara is one of us!"

"No Luke, she isn't," Leia's voice was firm, but there was a hint of gentleness to it. She sounded genuinely pained at having to tell him this. "She never has been."

"I can't believe that, Leia. She's our ally. Look at everything she's done for the Alliance." Luke's voice was full of conviction, something that pained Athara to no end. Even with everything the Princess had just accused her of and all the unanswered questions he had, he still believed in her. He still trusted her. Leia shook her head sadly.

"Tamara is Vader's apprentice, Luke. She is the Dark Lady Obscura." Athara bristled at that, her anger nearly snapping free at everything that name represented.

"My name is not Obscura." It came out sharper than she intended, but she was too busy fighting to keep her emotions in check to care. Behind them a viewscreen cracked. Luke looked on in shock, a flicker of hurt and betrayal in his eyes, while Leia almost looked satisfied. It didn't last, though, as Athara swung around to capture the Princess' gaze with her own yellow one. "I never wanted to be that. I never chose to be that, but being Athara was never an option for me." A flicker of fear appeared in the Princess' eyes. Athara, however, was too upset and too furious to care, a floodgate deep down inside her bursting open as a tiny, flickering need to have someone understand urged her on. Without so much as a gesture, she released the mechanism of the binders through the Force, flinging them mentally across the room before taking a step forward. Somewhere, another viewscreen cracked.

"Yes, I am Vader's apprentice, but I also owe him my life. If he hadn't found me, if he hadn't protected me, I wouldn't be alive now. The Emperor _kills_ Force-sensitives like me, but Vader convinced him that I wasn't strong enough to be a threat. He shielded my strength from Palpatine and he trained me. Taught me how to take care of myself. In return I served him as his right hand, gave him my loyalty. But that all ended the instant Tarkin blew up Alderaan!" Leia went as white as the gown she wore when the name of her doomed Homeplanet was mentioned. Athara nodded bitterly.

"Yes, Princess. You were too caught up in mourning your Planet to notice that others were affected too. You have no idea what it's like, to feel the deaths of that many people inside your head! It nearly ripped me apart, just as I nearly ripped that Command Centre apart in my pain and my rage! I couldn't even walk out of there on my own. My life ended that day, Princess. The Emperor knows how strong I am now, and he wants me dead because of it. He wants to kill me himself, a lesson for my Master. I have as much of a price on my head as any of you.

"So I made a new life for myself. Vader let me go, disobeying the Emperor to do so. He let me take the _Tantive IV_ and run. And I remade myself as Tamara. I had no intention of ever joining the Rebellion. But—" her gaze involuntarily shifted to Luke, meeting his gaze. Her anger deflated when all she saw in his vivid eyes was sympathy and astonishment, "—then things changed."

"Your family?" Luke's voice was as full of compassion as his eyes. But Athara had to shake her head even as the grief at the Jengal's fate coursed through her.

"You." Luke started a bit, but Athara continued. "I knew from the moment I met you that you are the Galaxy's best hope at defeating the Emperor. You're the only one strong enough." His shoulders slumped a little with humiliation and regret at her certainty, his gaze dropping to his new hand.

"I couldn't even defeat Vader. How am I supposed to defeat the Emperor?" The doubt in his voice nearly brought tears to Athara's eyes.

"Because you aren't ready yet. That's why I insisted on going to Bespin instead of you. I knew Vader wanted you, and I wasn't about to let him have you." Leia looked on in bewilderment, though the anger never quite left her eyes.

"And I followed you anyway. I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was happening to you, to Leia and Han. I made a mess of things." Guilt bloomed on his face as he spoke, his mechanical hand clenching. Athara instinctively stepped forward, laying a hand over his new one, loosening the fist he had made. Then, unhooking his lightsaber from her belt, she placed it in his hand.

"Vader took mine when I arrived in Cloud City. When he took your hand—" she nearly choked, her voice thick with guilt and grief, "—I needed a lightsaber. In that moment I wanted to kill him. I wanted to kill my Master, Luke, the man who taught me everything, who protected me." Then she stepped back, distancing herself from her Farmboy. With a brush of the Force, she called the binders back, handing them to the guard standing nearby. She then held her hands out, silently gesturing for him to carry out the Princess' orders. The Guard nervously complied, refastening them around her wrists. She turned back to Luke, fighting back the tears that were suddenly threatening to fall.

"I'm not a good person, Luke. I'm sorry." He all but leapt forward, his hands gripping her shoulders as he turned her to face him.

"No. I can't believe that. I've seen the good in you." Athara managed a sad, wondering smile, astonished that he could still think so highly of her. She reached up to gently touch his cheek in gratitude for that. But she had nothing to say, and instead stepped back, struggling not to flinch when each of the two guards took a hold of one of her arms. With one last look at her Farmboy, the guards began to lead her away.

But before they reached the door, Athara hesitated, turning to face the Princess, grimly aware that their roles were reversed from years before.

"Despair," Athara said quietly, the single word out of her mouth before she could stop it. Leia looked confused for a moment.

"What?"

"Despair, not hate, is what drives him. In many ways, it is much more powerful." Slowly, understanding lit upon the Princess' face as she realized who the Sith apprentice was talking about. Then it was only bewilderment; the Princess had no idea what to make of Athara's admission.

And with that, Athara allowed herself to be led away.


	20. Chapter 19

Athara completely lost track of time sitting in the cell she had been assigned. The shuttle-ride to one of the Fleet's larger cruisers, where there were actual brigs, had been painfully quiet. The guards had been so nervous around her that the instant they had led her into the cramped cell, they had left her there without another word. They hadn't even removed the binders from her wrists. Not that that was of great concern, she imagined. She had already demonstrated that she was more than capable of removing them herself.

Yet she hadn't. As soon as the door had whooshed shut, she'd slumped down onto the bench that ran the length of one durasteel wall. In that moment, she felt like she was exactly where she deserved to be. So she sat on the hard bench, binders still clamped around her wrists, ruminating on the last several weeks. She went over everything. Hoth, Dagobah, Yoda, Qui-gon, Bespin, Vader…Luke. Everything. And she came up with nothing beyond that she had made a horrible mess of things.

She never should have rejoined Vader. She should have helped her friends outright rather than biding her time for the apparently nonexistent right moment. She should have…she wasn't even sure of what all she should have done. All she knew was that she had failed. She had given into the Dark Side again when she should have resisted. She didn't have to rejoin Vader to help her friends. But she did anyway. She had been blinded to her other options. There was nothing but truth in what she had said to Luke.

She was not a good person.

Her reputation had preceded her, after all. The guards had nervously taken steps back when Leia revealed Athara's true identity. Even Luke had known the name Obscura. With one fell blow, the Alderaanian Princess had erased everything Athara had done for the Alliance. Never mind that she had never spilled a Rebel secret, or that she had faithfully run supplies for them, or that she had almost single-handedly turned several Imperial encounters to the Rebel's advantage, or helped them find new secure places for hidden bases. Not a bit seemed to matter. Innumerable Rebels had once been Imperials before their defections. Many of the leaders themselves had a decidedly Imperial history.

But she had been Vader's right hand. She had hunted down and dealt with Rebels. She had defeated them in several engagements just as she had won some for them. And Vader was responsible for far worse…

Her musings, however, were interrupted when she felt a visitor approaching. She had been sitting still for so long that she could barely feel her legs, while the coolness of the metal bench had begun seeping into her bones. Her hands were nearly numb from the binders, and she was exhausted, both physically and mentally, almost beyond reason. If not for the way the grazing blaster wound on her thigh burned, the constant throbbing pain allowing her some focus, she might not have noticed the approach at all. She certainly wasn't expecting visitors.

It was a testament to her exhaustion that she didn't even realize it was Luke until he stepped into her cell, and even then, it took her a moment to process that she wasn't hallucinating.

And then she broke down completely.

In an instant he was at her side, releasing the binders and tossing them aside before pulling her into his arms. Immediately, she was struggling to regain control, but it was far harder than it should have been. Distantly, she felt Qui-gon's comforting presence brush against her consciousness.

It was several long minutes before she was able to calm herself, though once she had, she couldn't bring herself to pull out of Luke's embrace. It was longer still before she had gathered enough courage to speak.

"I'm sorry that I never told you, Luke. I was trying so hard to leave that part of my life behind. I didn't want—" He pulled away a little, meeting her still watery eyes.

"Don't. You don't have to do that." The compassion she had seen in him earlier was still there in his voice, though it was firmer now than it was in the Medical bay. She could only look at him in bewilderment.

"Yes, I do. You know who I am now. I kept that from you, from everyone," she couldn't hold his earnest gaze any longer. "It changes everything."

"No it doesn't. Not to me. Whatever you were before, as Obscura, it's not you anymore. You and Ben always push me to trust my feelings, and they tell me that there is good in you. I can see it." He sounded so sure. Athara sighed, feeling more tired than ever. She wanted to believe him so badly. He tilted her chin up so he could meet her eyes again.

"You're fighting the Dark Side. I can feel it. I saw it back there." He was so calm about everything. Knots of anxiety began forming in Athara's stomach.

"No, you saw me giving into it," she said, her voice wavering with misery. He shrugged slightly before slowly shaking his head.

"But you were still fighting it. I could feel the turmoil in you, the struggle you were having, trying to keep your anger under control. Leia should not have goaded you like that."

"No. Don't you understand, Luke," Athara lurched to her feet, but she had been immobile so long that she hadn't gotten more than a few steps from him when her legs gave out, sending her crashing hard into the opposite wall. Again, he was at her side in an instant, but this time she pushed him away, fixing him with a firm look even as she fought back a grimace of pain. His eyes dropped to the blaster burn on her thigh.

"You're hurt—"

"I'm fine," she snapped, intent on not letting him distract her from what she needed to say, "it's not my first blaster wound." He didn't look convinced, but Athara pointedly ignored his look of concern, barely pausing to take a breath before continuing as though he hadn't said a word about her injury.

"She was right, Luke. I just stood by. When they were captured, when Vader tortured them, when he took your hand," her gaze dropped to his side, where his new mechanical hand rested. Involuntarily he flinched, drawing his new hand away to hide by his side. "Even if I couldn't have stopped it I could have tried. But I didn't."

"And what would Vader have done if you had?" His quiet reason cut through the despair that was slowly swamping her, but it did nothing to stem the guilt.

"That's not the point, Luke. I still should have tried." A hint of a smile appeared on his lips.

"Do I have to remind you of what Yoda said?" She nearly smiled at the reminder, appreciating his small attempt at levity, but it did not hold the despair at bay long.

"He knew what I was from the start," she murmured. Luke frowned.

"You didn't have to seek him out, but you did. You are fighting the Dark Side. That's something I don't think Yoda quite understood at first. But eventually he came to see it, just as I do."

"But what if it's a fight I can't win?" There was no mistaking the hopelessness that coloured her tone. This time, though, when Luke moved to sit closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, she didn't push him away, leaning against him instead.

"Then you keep fighting anyway." She couldn't deny that he was right, though from her perspective, things still looked very bleak. But she didn't really have a response, so she instead settled for reaching out, taking his right hand in hers.

At first he hesitated in letting her, still obviously self-conscious about the new limb, but after a moment, he relaxed, letting her explore 2-1B's handiwork.

The prosthetic hand was impeccably done, and almost seamlessly merged with his arm. If one didn't know it was artificial, at a glance they never would. Under her touch, though, the illusion faded, and it was possible to tell that it was made of metal and polymers instead of flesh and bone. Though the skeletal structures were in all the right places and tendons and muscle were laboriously mimicked, it was slightly cooler to the touch than live skin and, where the synthskin met his real flesh, the colour was a little off. He flinched ever so slightly when her fingers found the newly healed seam on his wrist.

"It's still a little tender," he murmured, patiently watching her exploration.

"They did an incredible job. It's much better than many of the limb replacements I've seen. My Master's aren't nearly so sophisticated, or so well integrated into what remains his limbs." The instant the words left her mouth she froze, having never intended to say them. All the blood left her face as Luke tensed, his new hand twitching under her fingers. "I'm sorry Luke, I didn't mean to—" He shook his head silently, shrugging it off. After a moment he sighed, leaning his head back against the durasteel wall. His usually open face took on a distinctly troubled and sorrowful cast. Athara could've kicked herself for her lack of sensitivity.

"I know. It's alright." His thoughts betrayed him, though. Things were very much not all right. But then she doubted she was shielding her thoughts particularly well at that moment either.

"For what it's worth, Luke, I am so sorry for what he did to you," she said, her voice nearly breaking with guilt. He tried to smile reassuringly, but it came out more like a grimace. After a moment he sighed heavily before replying.

"It's okay, really. I know you had nothing to do with what Vader did."

"I was there, though. I was on that processing vane. I watched him take your hand. I should have helped; I could have helped you." His brow furrowed slightly at the confession, but just as quickly his features cleared.

"And what would you have done? You said yourself he has your lightsaber. You would have been defenseless. And even after you retrieved mine, he might have killed you if you had actually attacked him." He sighed again when she refused to acknowledge his point. "None of that matters now. You're here. You're with us. That says more than anything else you could have done." Now it was Athara who frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"You knew Leia would have you arrested, didn't you. You followed us here knowing what would happen if you did, and you submitted when you could have fought." He was right. Athara deflated a little at that.

"I had to know that you were alright," she said quietly. He smiled gently, entwining his mechanical fingers with hers, the movement slow and careful; he was obviously still adjusting to the replacement.

"You said you aren't a good person. I can't believe that. I don't believe it. There is too much good in you, Athara." She started, jerking back to look him in the eyes. He had said her name, _her_ name; not an alias or an assumed name, but hers.

"What?" Her voice was little more than a surprised whisper. He looked confused for an instant before his expression cleared. He knew why she had reacted the way she had.

"You are a good person, Athara."

A soothing warmth spread through her at the way he said it. Her only response was to lean in closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder, unexpectedly calmed by the sound of her real name on his tongue. She was too tired to counter his conviction.

She didn't realize she had dozed off until Luke nudged her awake. They had company. Instinctively, Athara bristled, but a gentle touch from Luke reminded her that she needed to try and keep herself under control.

As the door whooshed open, the two Force-sensitives stood, though Luke kept a hand on her shoulder. She wasn't sure if he meant to do it, and the part of her that was protective of him wished he wouldn't, but it was reassuring nonetheless.

On the other side of the door was Leia, accompanied by Chewbacca and a handful of security guards. The irony was not lost on Athara, who couldn't help but smile deprecatingly at the reversal. Leia, on the other hand, looked surprised that Luke was there.

"What are you doing here, Luke? You should be recuperating."

"I think you know why I'm here, Leia," Luke said softly. Athara was astonished at the calm power in his tone. No matter the pain and heartache he had endured on Bespin, he had already grown because of it. In that moment she was reminded of just how much she had come to love her Farmboy.

The aspiring Jedi took a step toward the Princess. "Why are you doing this, Leia? What does persecuting her gain?" Leia straightened, her features hardening.

"She's a high-ranking Imperial agent and right hand of Darth Vader. There are things she's done for which she is to be held to account."

"I am right here, you know," Athara couldn't help but mumble in annoyance. But neither of them were paying her any attention.

"And what of everything she's done for the Alliance?" Leia's jaw clenched in response at his point, "she's not that person anymore, Leia. She has more to offer the Alliance as an ally than an enemy."

"It's out of my hands, Luke. Mon Mothma has requested an interrogation and an investigation. She's even called for a meeting of High Command to question her; she wants to see her for herself." Luke hesitated a little at that. There was no arguing with the Alliance's Commander in Chief.

As the Alliance's leader was not to be kept waiting, Athara was promptly loaded onto a shuttle, and transported to the Fleet's command ship, _Home One_ , where the High Command had set up operations following the evacuation of Hoth. Luke never left her side, and had staunchly countered Leia when the Princess tried to insist on having Athara put in binders again. Needless to say the Princess wasn't pleased. Athara had to fight to hide the smirk that threatened.

And then she was in front of Mon Mothma, Leia and a few select—and available—members of the Alliance's Advisory Council and High Command, many of whose names she didn't know and didn't really care to find out. She stood alone in the centre of the conference room, with her judges arrayed around her in an impromptu session to figure out how to deal with her. At first they had tried to dismiss Luke and Chewie, but the wookiee had refused to leave Leia's presence just as Luke had insisted on staying himself. As no one wanted to argue with a wookiee and they all respected Luke in general, the two were allowed to stay. It actually brought Athara no small measure of relief, though the way Chewie was watching her was beginning to make her nervous.

"Lady Obscura, you have been brought before the council today to face questioning about your place in the Empire as well as the Alliance. Council Member Leia Organa has brought forward concerns and even accusations that you are an Imperial Spy. Obviously that is of great concern to us." Mon Mothma was everything Athara remembered from the few Imperial functions they had both attended. Her soft, mild voice was calm but authoritative, and her face betrayed nothing of her own thoughts, though her eyes showed her sharp mind and her interest in getting to the bottom of the matter.

"Your reputation precedes you, Milady. Though I don't think any of us were expecting such a young woman to be under that infamous hood." The comment came from one of the officers on Athara's left, two seats down from Mon Mothma. His uniform suggested he was involved with the Alliance's Support Services, while his rank insignia told her he was a Commander.

"I get that a lot," Athara couldn't help but bite back, and with a quick flick, she had pulled her cowl in place, her deep black cloak still round her shoulders, "is this more what you were expecting?"

"Don't be smart, Obscura. This is a serious matter," Leia responded, her tone sharp.

"I do believe I asked you not to call me that, Princess," Athara snapped back. Deep down, she could feel her anger spark, but her talk with Luke had her resolved to resist the Dark Side better than she had been. She tried desperately to let her anger go.

"I have to agree with you, Leia," Mon Mothma said calmly, "This is a serious matter. I do not believe, though, that the hood is necessary, My Lady." Athara took a deep bracing breath before lowering the wide cowl.

"If you do not wish to be called Lady Obscura, what are we to call you?" The question came from another member of the council, an older General that Athara had never encountered before. He was obviously originally from Coruscant though; his accent made that quite clear.

"I have always been little more than a shadow, so the Emperor thought the name Obscura would be a little more intimidating than my true name, and Vader’s Shadow needed an appropriately mysterious designation. I was born Athara Adyé, though only a handful of people have ever known me as such." Though she had overruled her instinctual hesitation at revealing her true name, she hadn't quite been able to withhold the uneasy waver from her voice. A flicker of curiosity and puzzlement through the Force told her that her name meant something to the meeting's members, and a nervous shifting and a few quick glances from one or two of the other members drew her own gaze to the Support Services Commander. As quickly as whatever it was appeared, though, it was gone, and the Commander who drew her attention was watching her with the same concerned but inquisitive interest as everyone else.

"So then, Lady Adyé, you admit that you are Darth Vader's associate," the older General asked. Athara lifted her chin, though if it was a measure defiance or pride even she wasn't quite sure.

"I was his apprentice." The room was silent for a moment as many of the members weren't initially sure what she meant by that.

"You are Force-sensitive, like he is?" Mon Mothma was the first to speak up. She seemed the least troubled by the admission. But she might have been; Athara wasn't sure. The Chandrilian was hard to read, and she had obviously had some training in shielding her mind from Force-users.

"I am."

"I do believe we are getting off topic," Leia interjected. "We are here because she is an Imperial agent, not because she is a Force-user."

"Princess Leia is right," seconded the female Mon Calamari Council Member on Leia's left. Athara managed to keep herself from scowling in annoyance before responding, deliberately keeping her voice calm and measured. She was, after all, trying to play nice.

"And the only reason I was an Imperial agent was because I am a Force-user."

"Was? Do you deny that you are an active Imperial agent?" General Madine was the one who spoke, Athara noted. She couldn't help the bitter half-smile that came to her lips.

"I haven't been an active Imperial agent since the Emperor ordered Vader to deliver me to him so he could kill me. My loyalty has only ever been to my Master. Not the Empire, and certainly not to the Emperor." Several of the Council members exchanged startled looks. Leia wasn't one of them. Her eyes flashed with irritation.

"Then why were you with Vader on Bespin. Why did you turn Captain Solo, Chewbacca and me over to your Master?" Once again Athara's anger threatened to surge forward. Leia was baiting her. It took several deep breaths for Athara to firmly stamp down her aggression again.

"As I have explained already, I was on Bespin because I heard you were to be captured and I was hoping to intervene. Boba Fett is the one responsible for Vader's knowledge of your whereabouts. Not me. For the last year my loyalty has been to the Alliance."

"So you openly acknowledge that you have defected?" Another member, the Bothan, spoke up, his voice tinted with surprise. Athara shrugged.

"Not exactly openly since I am in hidin—" before Athara could finish, though, Leia had broken in again.

"If you had defected, as you claim, why were you standing with Vader instead of being arrested along with us." Athara clenched her jaw. The Princess certainly wasn't making this easy.

"What do you mean, Princess?" The older General to Mon Mothma's right frowned at Leia's statement. Leia sat a little straighter, her expression gravely serious, though her eyes still glinted with satisfaction.

"She was present when we were captured on Bespin, and was actively taking orders from Vader. She was also at his side when they froze Captain Solo in carbonite. She was also nowhere to be found when Fett managed to get away with Captain Solo. If, as she claims, she was there as an ally, why then did she simply stand by?" Athara blanched; she hadn't heard that Fett got away.

"You didn't save Han?" she whispered, her voice choked with disbelief. Leia frowned. Athara's disbelief quickly turned to irritation. "Calrissian..." the former Sith apprentice rounded on Leia. Behind her, Chewbacca growled a soft warning, but Athara ignored him, pressing on. "You couldn't just trust him, could you? The man helps you escape and you wasted time deciding if you could trust him?"

"How did you—" For a brief instant, the Princess looked confused, but abruptly, as though remembering herself, Leia's eyes were sparking with anger again. "He was working with Vader, he had betrayed us."

"And if he hadn't cooperated with Vader he'd be dead, along with most of Cloud City. You think it's easy to refuse the Dark Lord of the Sith? Many have tried to defy him, and a great many of them are dead. I've seen it. I've carried out the orders myself. Calrissian had a city he was responsible for; he wasn't about to put his people at risk. It took watching his friend getting encased in carbonite to be able to convince him to help you escape." Over near the door, Chewie made a soft, mournful sound. Before Leia could respond, though, Mon Mothma broke in, cutting the argument short.

"That is enough. Lady Adyé, Princess Leia, if you please," when she was sure the two of them had stopped, the older woman continued, her gaze fixed on Athara. It was a long moment before she spoke again.

"Why are you here, Lady Adyé?" It wasn't accusing, or patronizing. Nor was it as simple a question as it seemed and Mon Mothma knew it. But it was also an honest question borne out of genuine curiosity. At first Athara didn't answer. How could she? She was here for Luke, but she had no wish to incriminate him in any way, so she felt she couldn't say that. But she didn't really want to get into any of her more personal reasons for joining the Rebels either. After all, they were too, well, personal.

"I want the Empire to fall."

"Why?" It was only one word, but it was also a firm but gentle command. Plus, the former senator genuinely seemed interested in her motivations. She knew there was more to Athara's story than the former Sith was willing to say. Unconsciously, Athara's hand reached up to touch the stone pendant that hung against her collarbone.

"I have my reasons. And I made a promise." The Alliance's Leader sat back in her seat, a considering look on her face. The Coruscanti General leaned forward.

"Who were they?" His face was creased with lines, both from joy and sorrow, and she could see a kindred ache of loss in his dark eyes.

"The closest thing to a family I've ever had," slipped from her lips before she had even realized she'd thought it. Having just related something so personal to both relative strangers and those she knew, Athara was abruptly aware of a warm flush creeping to her face.

She had felt embarrassed and humiliated before; Vader had made sure of that. His methods of instruction called for emotion to fuel action, so many of his earlier lessons had dealt with a wide breadth of them. Plus, her knack for getting in trouble had always resulted in embarrassment when she was caught, rather than shame or guilt, so she was quite familiar with the emotion. Vader had always said that getting caught showed incompetence. After that lesson, getting caught was only ever met with embarrassment on her part.

However, this time it was different. Much different. She didn't feel embarrassed.

She felt vulnerable.

"What were their names?" Athara started at the question, jolting from her thoughts. The older General had a sympathetic, knowing look on his face but he didn't repeat himself.

"That is my concern," she said sharply, her tone brooking no argument. Volunteering information about herself had been all but taboo until now, and as such, wasn't something she was good at.

"That is all well and good, My Lady. But the crux of the matter is not your motivations, but whether or not we can trust you. I must admit, I have grave concerns about your presence and indeed, even your actions on behalf of the Alliance," the concerns were coming from the Mon Calamari Council member, "I also find it highly troubling that you were in such close contact with Vader recently. How are we to know what transpired between you and him on Bespin."

"I have to agree with Council Member Nialespi. We can have no assurances that Alliance secrets have not been compromised," supplied the Bothan member.

"And I suppose my word will not be good enough." Athara couldn't help but interject bitterly. "I wiped my fighter before reaching Bespin, and my astrodroid wasn't compromised as I have programmed several fail-safes to prevent unauthorized access to his memory systems from anyone but myself. There is currently no Base right now to be betrayed, and we are not under attack here, so I obviously haven't compromised the rendezvous point. Plus Vader and I had an understanding; I could keep my Rebel secrets and my freedom in exchange for rejoining him and not interfering with his operation on Bespin. Though, considering that I am now here and not with him, and that I kept Commander Skywalker and Princess Leia out of his hands, I think it's safe to say that deal is off."

"I'm sorry Lady Adyé, but we need more concrete assurances before we can be sure of that," said the older General.

"Additionally, we have no assurances that, in the future, you will not return to Vader," added the young Support Services officer.

"I have no intention of returning to Vader," Athara said darkly. A few of the members shifted nervously.

"What about my word?" Athara spun in shock when she heard Luke speak up. The young Jedi had stood, and made his way to the centre of the room to stand next to Athara. The former Sith apprentice could only gape in disbelief,

"Luke, no. What are you—" he cut her off with a firm glance, his eyes pleading her to let him do this. Before she could protest further, he continued.

"I have worked closely with Athara for a while now, and I have seen her devotion to our cause. She has done a great deal for the Alliance and she has done a great deal to help me," he met her gaze for a moment, "even going so far as to shield me from Vader. As some of you may know or may have suspected, I am Force-sensitive, and because of that Vader had been particularly interested in my capture. She has done everything in her power to prevent that from happening." A ripple of concern and surprise went through the council the instant he mentioned he was a Force-user, showing Athara that many had, in fact, not known or suspected, but Luke took it in stride. He turned his gaze pointedly to Leia, "she even covered our escape from Bespin, getting injured by blasterfire herself, before using my fighter to engage the TIEs attacking us, give the _Falcon_ time to reactivate the hyperdrive." Suddenly conscious of the absent way he gestured toward her injured leg, Athara twitched her cloak to hide the wound. She didn't like how exposed and weak the wound made her feel, no matter how minor it really was.

"And how do you know she wasn't involved in deactivating it in the first place, Luke. How do you know this wasn't all part of some elaborate plan of Vader's?" Leia countered. Athara snorted.

"Vader's plans aren't usually that convoluted," the former Sith countered with amusement, "He doesn't have the patience for it." Leia fumed silently. Luke ignored it.

"I spoke to Artoo, my Astromech, and he told me that he received a message about the _Falcon_ 's hyperdrive through Bespin's central computer system, left there by R3-N3, Lady Adyé's astrodroid."

"Forgive me, Commander Skywalker," it was the first thing said by General Draven, who sat to the right of the Support Services officer, "but that is not enough proof for us to place our trust in this Imperial agent. As Council Member Organa has pointed out, we cannot be sure of Lady Adyé's motives."

"But with her leadership, we have won several valuable engagements for the Alliance. Her intimate knowledge of Imperial protocol and tactics could be crucial advantage for us. More critically, she also knows how Vader thinks. An edge like that would be invaluable," interjected General Madine. Several of the Members began nodding in agreement as they considered his observation.

"I won't do that." Everyone froze when Athara interrupted. Panic began rising in her chest at the very thought of turning against Vader like that, no matter her current feelings toward him. "Imperial protocols, fine. Tactics, fine. Strengths and weaknesses of Imperial commanders, fine. Whatever else I can give? Fine. But I will not give you Vader. He may be the Emperor's right hand and the Alliance's greatest enemy, but he still raised and protected me. I won't betray him any farther than I already have. I can't."

"Then how can you expect us to trust you if you still harbour such loyalty to him?" Leia replied irritably.

"I'm not asking you or anyone to trust me," snapped back Athara. Her control was beginning to wear thin, and she could feel her anger beginning to rise. Luke sensed it, laying a hand on her shoulder. He turned back to Leia.

"Can't you see that she could no more betray Vader than you could your father, your friends?" Leia's face darkened.

"Vader killed my Father, Luke, the same time he killed everyone else on Alderaan."

"Tarkin did that, Princess, not Vader. I was in that control room, same as you, and I remember that vividly," Athara couldn't restrain herself. The Princess was severely testing her control, "Had Vader wanted Tarkin to give the order, he would have exposed your lie about Dantooine." Leia blanched. Athara was nearly tempted to smile.

"Yes, it was very easy to sense that you were lying through your teeth to try and save your planet without giving up the Alliance, and guess what, the Force-users let you. No other Imperial would've given that order; from a political standpoint alone doing so was reckless and irresponsible. Alderaan's destruction chased hundreds of thousands, Imperial and civilians alike, away from the Empire. Even the Emperor was angry with Tarkin for doing it, no matter that he was the Emperor's favourite. Had he survived the Death Star's destruction, the Emperor might very well have executed him. We didn't anticipate that Tarkin was going to give the order anyway," Athara spat, nearly choking on the name of the late Grand Moff, ignoring the shock and bewilderment flooding the room at her pronouncement, "You need to work on shielding your thoughts, Princess."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I know right now you are picturing Chewie there throttling me the same way he tried to with Calrissian. Like I'd let that happen."

"That is enough." Mon Mothma stood, abruptly cutting in, "Council Member Organa, if you can not remain objective here, we will have no choice but to omit you from the rest of the proceedings." For the first time since the meeting began, Mon Mothma's cool slipped, her frustration at Leia and Athara's behaviour showing for an instant. After a moment, Leia backed down. It took Athara a bit longer to fight her anger back under control. Only then did the Leader of the Rebellion resume her seat and continue.

"As it stands, we have no means of confirming the Lady Adyé's loyalties at the moment. As such, she will remain in custody for the time being," the older woman's voice had a distinct note of regret in it. Athara couldn't say she was surprised, though. Luke, however, was far more disbelieving.

"Ma’am, if I may object—" But Mon Mothma raised a hand, silencing him.

"I am sorry, Commander Skywalker, but Lady Adyé has said herself that she will not denounce her loyalty to Vader, and that presents a risk we cannot afford to take. We have no means of assuring her loyalty to the Alliance." For a moment he looked defeated, but then a glint of determination came to his eye.

"Then I will take full responsibility for her," he said quietly. Everyone erupted at once, most of them protesting, Athara included.

"No. You can't do that, Luke. You can't." He only gave her a mild glance, though she could feel him silently entreating her to trust him. After a moment everyone calmed. Again, Mon Mothma's calm façade had slipped, showing nothing but concern. General Madine was the first to speak, though.

"What makes you so sure you can trust her, Commander."

"I know her. I've spent time with her. And I trust in the Force. Besides, I also need her knowledge. Though she may have been Vader's apprentice, she knows far more about the Force than I do, and I need that knowledge to continue my own training."

His reasoning was met with skepticism from many of the Council Members but after a few more minutes of vigorous discussion, it was agreed that Athara would be released after a thorough investigation of her contributions to the Alliance and full disclosure of any pertinent information she had about the inner workings of the Empire. It was not something she was particularly excited about, but they had ultimately agreed that they would not press her too much for information about Vader, something that did grant her a measure of relief.

Then, once the Alliance had mined as much usable information as they could out of her, she would be free to go with Luke. She could sense that he was beginning to make plans of some sort, but she couldn't quite figure out what they were. All she knew was that, in the meantime, he was intending to help Leia, Chewbacca and Calrissian track down and rescue Han.

That in itself was going to take some doing, and Athara could only wish them luck.

She only wished she was free to help.


	21. Chapter 20

It had been the longest six months of Athara's life, but she was finally free from the Alliance's investigators.

Day in and day out she was questioned about anything and everything to do with the Empire. Its command structures, supply networks, codes, encryptions, underworld dealings and contacts, agents and officers who might be susceptible to defection, tactics, security protocols, potential informants, Fleet weaknesses and movements—the list went on and on. Moreover it was also an interrogation of how she thought. How Athara herself would respond in any given situation. At first she figured that it was a potential precautionary measure, in case she were to ever rejoin the Imperial forces or possibly an additional means to harness her experience.

But after a while, and a particular slip up by the officer questioning her, she realized what it was really about.

They had figured out she often thought like Vader. At least, thought like him in a strategic sense…sometimes. The Rebellion's leaders seemed to be convinced that if they could figure out how she thought, planned and reacted, they might be able to figure him out, and learn how to beat him.

After that, she stopped co-operating. If they couldn't keep to their side of the bargain, neither would she. And she told them so; right after she shocked the interrogator by telling him off and was brought before the leadership of the Alliance…again.

They had not been pleased.

"You realize that our agreement included you providing us with information in exchange for your eventual release," General Madine almost sounded incredulous, but Athara could see through that. He wasn't all that surprised at her refusal. He had known that she knew what they had been trying to do. He also didn't seem terribly happy about the situation.

"And I have complied with the terms of our arrangement. The Alliance has not." Athara had managed to keep her responses calm, and had succeeded, for the most part; one thing her extended imprisonment had allowed for was a great deal of free time that she could devote to her meditation and work on slowly disentangling herself from the influence of the Dark Side. It meant that her patience was improving. Mon Mothma had not been present at that meeting, nor had the Coruscanti General or the Support Services Officer, both of whom had ultimately seemed to be sympathetic to her situation. She was also, admittedly, relieved that Leia was absent, as was the Mon Calamari member, who was emphatically not sympathetic. However, there was an additional Twi'lek member who had insisted on fixing Athara with a decidedly unfriendly look for the entire session.

"The Alliance is devoted to defeating Palpatine and his Empire. You agreed to provide any information that could be of use. In refusing to comply, you are the one who has broken the arrangement." General Draven, whom she’d never managed to like, was the one who argued back. His words had been heated, and even angry in tone. Athara wasn't fazed, though. She had prepared herself to handle anything they decided to throw at her. His irritation was nothing.

"I agreed to share my knowledge of everything save that which pertained to my former Master. Your interrogators broke the agreement." Draven went red in the face.

"By protecting Vader you are sabotaging our efforts to bring down the Empire; precisely what you claim to be interested in helping us accomplish!" But Athara stood firm, not saying another word even when he ordered her back to her cell indefinitely. He totally ignored Madine's protestations and the furtive concerned looks from the other present members, and proclaimed her agreement with the Alliance was henceforth suspended until she resumed co-operating. Athara couldn't say she was surprised. She had been anticipating such backpedaling. She knew there were too many members in both High Command and the Advisory Council that didn't want to risk her betraying them once free of their custody. She knew they saw her as a wild card. She really wasn't surprised that they'd managed to find a way to suspend her release as long as possible. So she had already begun formulating an escape. It was several weeks, though, before the opportunity had presented itself.

But she had been surprised by the manner of her departure from the Fleet, and the appearance of someone she had not expected to see; Mona.

Athara had been too dumbfounded to speak when the door to her cell had hissed open and the young woman she had once regarded as a little sister had stood on the other side. She'd had no idea Mona had joined the Rebellion. At once a million questions popped into her head. But she didn't get a chance to ask any of them, or even manage to speak. In a flash she was whisked away by the young Nubian and a pair of guards, escorting her to who knew where. Then Mona had dropped back to walk beside Athara…where she murmured a rather simple instruction, while surreptitiously gesturing to the blaster at her hip.

"Subdue us then run to the supply ship waiting in the hangar. I trust you can take it from there, right Ata?" A rather mischievous glint had appeared in Mona's eyes. But Athara couldn't fight the worry that had begun welling in the pit of her stomach.

"What about you? You'll be tried for conspiracy, sedition, even treason for this," the former Sith hissed back. She couldn't risk that, not even if it was the price for her freedom. A faint smile came to Mona's lips.

"For doing what? I'm taking you to see Commander Adyé for further questioning. But I'm afraid he underestimated the guards necessary to adequately contain you." Athara froze, her step faltering as the words left Mona's mouth. But that was evidently the wrong thing—or the right, depending on the point of view—to do. One of the guards panicked when their prisoner abruptly stopped, and brought his blaster up to bear.

Athara reacted instinctively, pushing back at him through the Force, sending him and his companion flying backward. They recovered quickly enough, but not before Athara had taken Mona's earlier hint and Force-called her blaster from her. The former Imperial had to admit; her almost-little sister was a remarkable actress, fighting convincingly to retrieve her weapon from Athara. But she obviously didn't mean it, for Athara was easily able to keep it from her, managing to get off a shot at one of the guards before they had managed to regain their footing. She had to fight back a smile when she noticed the blaster was pre-set to stun, as were the guard's weapons. Upon noticing that, as the second guard brought up his blaster Athara knew what she had to do to protect Mona.

Not bothering to hide the pained and apologetic expression on her face, Athara side-stepped behind her adopted sister just as the guard fired. Mona slumped against Athara, a small, pleased smile on her face; she had anticipated what Athara would do, and had known it was necessary.

It took a single shot to incapacitate the remaining guard, and with care and regret, Athara gently lowered Mona to the ground.

She turned to the security cameras, intent on leaving a message. After all, there was no doubt Rebel Leadership, especially that _sleemo_ Draven, would demand an inquiry into her escape. Reviewing the security recordings were going to be one of the first things they did, no doubt.

"I am not your enemy, though I know some of you —Draven— will decide I am. You already have everything I could have told you about the Empire, so I would appreciate it if you considered this incident the final part of our bargain; my release. I can't say it's been a pleasure, though. And, I have to say it," she said with a resigned shrug, "but you broke our arrangement, and I have no desire to spend the rest of my life in an Alliance cell. I have work to do. Put what I've given you to good use." She had sighed heavily then, both genuinely and for dramatic effect, "and know that I have no intention of betraying the Alliance. I do believe it is our best hope for defeating the Emperor. I just can't help buried in a cell." Then, with one last, reluctant look at Mona, she had taken the young Nubian's advice and ran for the ship that was apparently waiting for her.

It wasn't much too look at, but it was hyperdrive capable and waiting for her, already prepped. She made short work of the handful of crew near and around the ship, stunning them quickly, though one of them managed to sound the alarm before she got to him. Then, with the intercoms blaring and red lights beginning to flash, she dashed into the already warmed up supply ship and made a dash for the freedom of open space.

As the feel of the stardrive spooling up vibrated through the cockpit, Athara was keeping a wary eye out for Alliance troops, and as she began maneuvering the dingy little ship off the hangar floor, the swarm she was anticipating began barrelling into the hangar itself. The ship trembled worryingly as blasterfire began pelting the hull of the ship. Gritting her teeth, she all but yanked the ship around by sheer force of will, ignoring the warning wailing from the console that the hangar bay blastdoors and shields were being activated. Every muscle tensed in anticipation, she slammed the accelerator forward, catapulting the little ship toward space.

She barely managed to escape the hangar bay before the blastdoors slammed shut.

Moments later she was in hyperspace, having managed a quick calculation during her brief pre-flight moments just to get her away from the Fleet.

Then she was free.

A little while later, she dropped the ship out of hyperspace, eager to get off the main lanes in effort to shake any pursuit the Alliance had managed to whip up. During her initial jump, she had already planned out a series of small jumps that would, hopefully, shake any said hypothetical pursuit. After a few moments, the ship's navicomputer was ready and she sent the ship leaping through hyperspace again.

She had a series of five jumps planned. Usually, two or three were enough to successfully lose anyone intent on tracking a ship through hyperspace, but Athara couldn't help but feel a little paranoid, and wanted to be extra cautious. Funny, even her escape from Bespin hadn't warranted so many jumps; there she'd only employed three. So, as soon as the stars became starlines in the first of those five jumps, she was up and out of the pilot's seat to search the ship. Though she had limited experience with tracking devices, she was confident that she would be able to locate any in the event she had been tricked. Luck was on her side, and she found only one, a standard issue tracker that the Alliance had taken to placing on many of their ships in the event that one was to go missing.

She also found something else she certainly wasn't expecting. While poking around the empty cargo bay, she was startled by a low whistle behind her, spinning around only to see a familiar squat figure trundling toward her.

"N3?" The little droid chattered happily as he wheeled up to her. Athara was astonished. She hadn't really expected to see the little droid again, expecting that the Alliance's investigators would have done anything they could to get information out of the little droid, destroying the personality he had developed when her security protocols kicked in. But here he was, just as personable as she remembered. But she couldn't linger to try and figure it out; she still had a few more areas of the ship to search. Luckily, now she had help.

By the time she and N3 were done searching, it was time for the second jump. It was a short one, as was the third. But between the two of them it was enough time for N3 to relate how he managed to get on her ship. Somehow, even N3 wasn't sure how, Luke had managed to save the little droid from the Alliance's investigators. After that, the Supply Services Commander had approached the young Jedi, enlisting the droid after swearing not to attempt any data retrieval and promising to return him to Athara upon her release. Well, he had kept his word, that's for sure. Even Kenobi's lightsaber was still where she had hidden it in one of the Droid's interior compartments.

The fourth jump was long enough that she decided to settle in to meditate, especially as she now had N3 to help keep an eye on things. Meditation, though, proved difficult, so she settled on catching some sleep instead.

Then it was time for the last planned jump. She woke from dreams of her ever-constant but ever-elusive visions. Even after all this time, she couldn't manage to remember a single one. It was just as frustrating as ever, especially as she was now certain that they pertained to those she cared about most. Especially Luke.

She had dreamed about him too.

With a groan of disappointment at being woken when she had, she hauled herself out of the berth she had found and made her way back to the cockpit to drop from hyperspace and enact the next jump.

It was going to be a little bit before she dropped out again, and she was finally able to settle enough to be able to take the time to regroup and plan. She had never expected to escape in the way that she did. In fact, she had realistically only half expected to escape at all, at least, not for some time yet. She had only just begun the process of actually seriously planning an escape. She hadn't even dreamed of planning what to do after yet. But it had happened anyway, and she was still in shock about it. Mona's presence, though, had arguably come as the biggest surprise.

As she thought about it, though, the surprise lessened and the logic prevailed. She really shouldn't have been so shocked that Mona had joined the Alliance. Their meeting on Nubia not even two years before should have planted the seeds of suspicion. The young Nubian was so sure of herself and so set against the Empire. Plus there was her family to consider as well, and not just because of their deaths at the hand of the Empire.

Trixton had been a Stormtrooper when they were young, yes, but she vaguely remembered his and Beryl's worry about where the Empire was leading the Galaxy. It wasn't too much of a stretch to imagine that their worry had evolved into discontent in the years after she'd left. They had been good people with staunch moral beliefs. There was no way they'd have approved of the Empire's atrocities. But she couldn't quite picture either of them being the type to risk joining the Rebellion, especially because they had three children to protect.

However, she also very much remembered Renate speaking against the Empire on occasion before being anxiously shushed by Trix. Now she'd had no compunctions about standing up against the Empire. She was also the only one who managed to look Vader in the eye when he'd come to collect Athara. So, to the former Sith's mind, it was no surprise that Mona would eventually find her way to the Alliance. Even as a toddler Mona had been more like Renate than either of her parents. Upon more reflection, Athara wouldn't have been surprised if she, and even Renate before her death, had been part of the Nubian Underground. Athara even wondered absently if Mona had been there when Han and Luke made contact with the Underground during that fateful visit to Nubia, if that's what she had been returning home from when Athara had been visiting their house.

Mona should not have helped her escape, though. No matter how Athara tried to convince herself that Mona and this Commander Adyé knew what they'd been about, she couldn't help but worry.

It was then that her thoughts turned to the mysterious commander Mona had mentioned. That he had managed to somehow organize a ship for her and since that ship was a small supply vessel, reason dictated that he was the Supply Services Officer who had caught her attention in that first audience with High Command she'd been subjected to; her feelings confirmed her musings and, the Force having never lied to her before, she believed them. Plus, N3 had also confirmed it when he had related his story to her. But she certainly hadn't known his family name was Adyé.

She had never once considered actually meeting anyone with the same surname as she did. She didn't even know roughly what planet it might have originated from. And in all her travels across the Galaxy, she had never once encountered that name on anyone else. She fought to keep herself from dwelling on what it might mean.

Could she possibly have family somewhere in the Galaxy?

Could he be one of them?

Realistically, she didn't even know for sure that Adyé was a name passed to her from either of her biological parents. She didn't even know who her parents were and had long ago accepted that she might never know. She had just always had it, even during her time with the Jengals. For all she knew, it was an arbitrary surname chosen by either Vader or even Trix and Beryl. But then there were her feelings! She knew there was a connection; something she was missing. She just did. She had known it since that day in front of Alliance High Command. She had just been too distracted by everything else to think on it further.

The more she thought on it, the more she came to accept that the Supply Services Commander just might be a link to the past she had studiously avoided wondering about. It brought all her latent curiosities to the fore, teasing her with how little she knew about her own past.

Perhaps digging into her own past was something she needed to do, she mused as her ship careened through hyperspace. But as she thought on it further, absently trying to decide where she could start any search into her background, she realized that she really had no idea where to start.

Furthermore, she really didn't know where to go at all. The intention had always been that, upon her release from Alliance custody, she would go with Luke to continue training, both for his sake and hers. But her release hadn't come about conventionally, or properly, and Luke had been away from the Fleet almost since she had been remanded into custody for questioning. She hadn't spoken to him since the session with High Command where he had defended her to his superiors. An ache bloomed in her chest at the thought, and she pushed the realization that she missed him desperately away, knowing full well that it would distract her from figuring out what to do next. After all, she had no idea where he was and had no way to contact him, so there was no point in wallowing in that feeling. If she could figure this out, they would be reunited, so she held onto that thought instead.

For a brief moment she considered going to Dagobah to see if Luke had returned there, but then she recalled that, by doing so, she would have to confront Yoda….not something she was eager to do just yet…but where else could she possibly go to train? She still needed instruction, and so did Luke, and they needed someplace where they could hide out while they did that. Dagobah had been ideal. It had been a perfect place for Force-sensitives like her and Luke to train and for Yoda to hide in his exile.

Then it hit her.

Tatooine.

The sudden emergence of Qui-gon's presence brushing against her consciousness startled her out of her thoughts.

"Nice of you to drop by," she couldn't help but mutter, a hint of sarcasm colouring her tone. She swore she could feel him chuckling. He knew she was pleased he was there. She also took his appearance to mean she was on the right track. Plus, again, her feelings were telling her she was right.

Kenobi and Luke had been hidden on Tatooine for almost twenty years without discovery. It was far from the Core Worlds, deep in the Outer Rim, isolated, sparsely populated; surely it would suffice for her and Luke to train. Plus, Kenobi's home should still be standing, and if it was as remote and secluded as Luke had described to her once, it was likely untouched. Meaning there might be useful tools or texts for her and Luke to use as they continued training.

Plus it was once her Master's Homeplanet.

"And there I thought I might have to direct you to Tatooine," her ghostly mentor's disembodied voice confirmed.

"Do you have any idea how completely unsettling that is?" This time, she was sure she heard him chuckle.

It only took a few quick punches, and as soon as she was back in real space again, the coordinates were set and, after a moment of final calculations by the navicomputer, she was away. Behind her N3 whirred happily, causing Athara to frown slightly.

"Well? I'm on my way to Tatooine. Where exactly is it that I'm supposed to go when I get there?" She was really only half expecting Qui-gon to answer, but he did anyway.

"Don't worry. The Force will guide us." She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow with skepticism.

"Helpful." He chuckled again at her disparaging tone.

"You remind me of Obi-wan, when he was your age." Athara couldn't help but straighten. It was such a nostalgic murmur.

"What was he like? Your apprentice?" She hadn't meant to ask, sensing that it came too close to the many 'forbidden' topics that she wasn't to speak of, but it had come to her lips anyway. He surprised her again by answering.

"He was impulsive then, like you, somewhat cynical and rather rebellious. Though, I think perhaps that was my influence. I was not interested in adhering blindly to many of the ideologies that the Jedi Order had come to cling to. I believed that such narrowness of vision as had evolved within the Jedi was hurting the Order, something I regret to say, I was partially right about. Yet, while I was considered a radical in some of my beliefs, Obi-wan had a wisdom I didn't. It allowed him to take what I had to teach and use it better than I had. He was a far greater Jedi than I could have ever hoped to be." The pride in his voice obvious, and Athara couldn't help the faint smile that came to her lips.

"But he would never admit it. While brash when he was young, it was rather a youthful trait in him, and he grew out of it. He was a loyal, patient and selfless man, as a Jedi should be, and always avoided conflict when he could, preferring to find a peaceful and just solution to whatever the conflict. He truly lived up to the Jedi reputation as a guardian of peace and justice." She had read as much about Kenobi, but hearing his old Master speak of him somehow made the words real, putting a man behind them. It heightened the feeling that she had never lost since that day aboard the Death Star. But as soon as that thought entered her mind, it led to an inevitable other.

"And yet he trained a Sith," Athara murmured. The sudden feeling of remorse that surged through her and into her own voice baffled her.

"He loved Anakin as a brother, you know. It nearly destroyed him when Anakin turned." If Qui-gon had been corporeal, she was sure, merely by the tone of his voice, that he would have fixed her with a firm but understanding stare. It was something that troubled Athara, especially as she couldn't understand any of it. Something else troubled her, too.

"Why didn't he just tell Luke the truth? Surely that would have been better than lying about what happened to his father." Qui-gon audibly sighed, his aura sad.

"Would it have been? I honestly don't know." He was right. They couldn't know.

"Aren't you supposed to know everything?" Athara half-heartedly quipped.

"Not quite everything, I'm afraid, my young Padawan." A faint feeling of delight surfaced in Athara at the endearment, followed immediately by one of sorrow. Despite everything she now knew, she couldn't help but miss her Master. And she couldn't help but regret the turn that her life and Luke's life had taken. She knew what Vader was, especially in the eyes of the Galaxy, but she knew _him_. She could no longer reconcile what she knew now with what Vader was. Her own memories prevented her from doing that, as did the knowledge she now had about his past. It led her to risk asking another question, one she wasn't quite sure she wanted to know the answer to.

"Is there still good in him? Or am I just trying too hard to see something that isn't there?" She asked it quietly, unable to hide the yearning in her voice. It was a thoughtful silence that followed, one that reassured her that Qui-gon hadn't disappeared on her again.

On the console in front of her, a light began flashing and behind her N3 burred quietly, both signalling that she was due to drop from hyperspace. Knowing their time for conversation was at an end, she grudgingly straightened in her seat, reaching forward to drop the little ship out of hyperdrive. But as she did so, Qui-gon's voice echoed through her mind, answering her final question.

 _There is_.

Her heart began beating just a little bit faster.


	22. Chapter 21

If it wasn't one extreme, it was another, it seemed. Tatooine had to be blisteringly hot. Of course, hours in a rickety old landspeeder, wrapped up in the loose, rough-spun garments typical of the locals hadn't helped in the slightest. It had been early morning when she had landed in Mos Espa, before the heat of the day had become fully realized. And it had been all day that she had been stuck in that speeder.

Selling her ship had been laughably easy, but finding a speeder had proved more of a challenge. Even though Tatooine was a perfect planet for hiding and disappearing on, Athara was still inclined to be cautious; that was why it was a smaller shop she tried. But because it was a smaller, and rather run-down, establishment, the speeder she had ended up with was all but an outright piece of junk. The owner was obviously down on his luck, because the old Toydarian was almost desperate to sell anything to her at whatever price he could get. Even so, she probably paid more for it than she should have. Still, it worked, and with her limited mechanical knowledge and N3's help she was able to verify that the speeder, though old, was sturdy and in relatively good order.

So, once she had filled the speeder with supplies, she and her droid had been on their way to Mos Eisley. Then Anchorhead the next day. She had remembered upon her approach to the sandy planet what little Luke had told her of his life there. From those stories she remembered the city of Mos Eisley, the town of Anchorhead and the Jundland Wastes. She had debated just landing in Mos Eisley, being the largest settlement, but again, her overactive sense of caution had pushed her to land in the smaller port city of Mos Espa; the expectation was always to land in the bigger city with the intention of disappearing in the crowd, after all, so anyone tracking her would likely start there.

Once she had reached Anchorhead, though, she was at a bit of a loss. She remembered that Luke had said Kenobi's hut had been in the Jundland Wastes, but she had never been to Tatooine before and knew better than to blindly wander into the wilderness of the desert planet. And the rudimentary nav-system in her speeder was next to useless. It had labeled a huge swath of the area as the Jundland Wastes. There were also three main towns around the eastern edge; Mos Eisley, Anchorhead, and Bestine.

And she was, essentially, lost.

It was then that N3 made a noise that sounded remarkably like a sigh before plugging into the nav-system that she had just finished verbally abusing. Before Athara could say anything, he had programmed a route out into the middle of the Wastes, not really all that far from Bestine.

"You couldn't have done this earlier, before we came all the way to Anchorhead? Where did you get this?" The little droid whirred happily, his response appearing on the display screen of the speeder.

"Artoo. You were talking to Artoo. And he told you where to find Kenobi's hut." She couldn't help but be a little skeptical. But she didn't have any better ideas, and Luke's little droid had proven his reliability and inventiveness time and time again. Then another thought struck her.

"Wait—you knew Luke was going to be here on Tatooine? You couldn't have said something?!" The little droid at least had the grace to make a rather meek and abashed little whistle. Athara groaned as she settled back into the pilot's seat. "Alright. But I'm not going through _that_ ," she muttered, gesturing to the image of the Jundland Wastes, "so back to Mos Eisley and around, I guess. We should be able to make it back there before dark." One up side to a planet with two suns? Lots of daylight.

So it was back to Mos Eisley. Then, the next morning, they were off toward Bestine and into the Jundland Wastes. The trip was surprisingly uneventful. After everything she had heard about Tatooine, she was expecting for, well, anything to go wrong.

But then they hit the Jundland Wastes proper, complete with winding canyons and crevasses, looming towers of rock and outcroppings and walls high enough to provide actual shade from the merciless suns. It was slow going, thanks to the uneven terrain, and Athara didn't like it. She had a bad feeling about it.

That feeling proved to be right.

A flicker through the Force was all that alerted her; she didn't see them coming. Out of nowhere came a wail, and then another, heralding the approach of six fearsome figures that seemed to melt out of the rocks with gutter bellows, each brandishing a curved and bladed weapon that Athara instinctively wanted to cringe away from. But she wouldn't. She couldn't. Beside her N3 moaned quietly. She could feel the aggression and the fury pouring off the figures, who were all so bundled and bandaged that she couldn't make out anything about them. Slowly, she pulled out the blaster she had strapped to her hip before standing, desperately wishing she had her lightsaber and cursing her own overabundance of caution in not getting out Kenobi's. Kenobi's old lightsaber was still hidden among her few meagre possessions, and thus out of easy reach. Judging by appearance alone, she hazarded a guess that they were the nomadic raiders that Luke had mentioned a couple times. In her experience, less advanced races tended to fear lightsabers instinctively…having one would have been very helpful.

It was a stand off. The fact that she deliberately and calmly stood to face them put them off, something that she could feel distressed and bothered them. They were used to their prey freezing in terror, panicking, screaming or shooting at them. She just stood there. But she wasn't deceived by their hesitation, though. They still fully intended to attack. In preparation, she began drawing the Force to herself, ready to Force-push them away if she needed to. She desperately wanted to avoid pulling from the Dark Side, so the power she was able to gather was worryingly less than she had hoped. She simply wasn't practiced enough with the Light to manage it with quite as much skill or control.

She just hoped her blaster skills combined with her use of the Force would be good enough that she could either convince them she wasn't worth it, push them back enough that she could get away, or maybe enough to allow her to go for Kenobi's blue blade. She was not terribly interested in killing all of them, though she feared that was precisely what she was going to have to do.

She also hoped she wouldn't instinctively start pulling from the Dark Side. She hadn't faced a true fight without it before.

It was going to be a brutal test, that was for sure.

Then one of them decided to be brave, leaping forward with a fierce yowl, his weapon raised above his head. It showed just how instinctive her use of the Force, even the Light, that instead of raising her blaster, she flung out her empty hand, channelling a powerful Force-push toward the raider, knocking him back past the outcropping he had leapt from. His body slammed into the rock wall, a dull, sickening thud echoing off the outcroppings around them. The other five didn't quite know how to react at first, but then the one to her far right wailed in rage, leaping forward as well. This time it was her blaster Athara whipped up, her shot hitting the roaring raider square in the chest, and he toppled from his particular outcropping to land motionless not five feet from her speeder.

Then the rest decided to attack. The two on her left were closer, so she sent another push toward them through the Force, sending them flying backward as well, though not quite as violently as before. This time they got up. As those two recovered, she turned her attention to the others that remained. She caught one of them with her blaster, but the other one managed to dodge her first and second shots. It took a Force push to keep him back.

By then the others had managed to regain their feet. She managed to pick off another one, causing his companion to hesitate. Another flicker in the Force caused her to spin around just in time to see one she had pushed away earlier had recovered much quicker than she had anticipated and was barrelling toward her.

She brought her blaster around, but he was too close and his clubbed weapon slammed the blaster from her hand. With a surge of Force energy she pushed him back, but she was too unfocused and he only wavered for a moment before balancing out. But it was enough to give her time to call her blaster back into her hand. Another guttural roar came from the mouthpiece as he swung his club up and over his bound and spiked head, preparing to bring it crashing down on her as she brought the blaster back up.

But she didn't get a chance to fire just as the raider didn't get a chance to swing.

From out of nowhere a familiar blue flash whirred behind the raider, slicing through the clubbed weapon as easily as a knife through butter.

The roar turned into a terrified yowl, and in the blink of an eye the nomad had leaped away, scrambling up the rock face to rejoin his remaining companions in retreat.

For a long moment, Luke's lightsaber made the only sound beyond Athara's heaving breaths and N3's worried beeps.

"I had that," she managed to choke out after a moment. Her Farmboy smiled and deactivated his lightsaber, his gaze dipping to her blaster.

"I know." With an answering smile she grabbed the hand he offered, letting him help her to her feet before taking her into his arms in a crushing hug. It was one she eagerly returned, melting against him. She hadn't allowed herself to think about just how much she had missed him until that moment. And it didn't matter anymore, because they were together again.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked after a long moment, pulling back from him.

"Well, I was working through a circuit, like the ones Master Yoda had me doing on Dagobah. I felt a disturbance and heard the Sand People howling so I decided to investigate. And, well, I suppose you know the rest."

"Ah," was all she could say as they climbed into her speeder. Moments later and they were once again moving. Luke was now driving, as he knew where he was going, while Athara sat beside him, deep in thought as the rocky landscape went by. After a few quiet moments she turned to Luke, unable to keep her questions to herself any more.

"Did you help get me out?" Luke's gaze wavered for a moment, but he kept his eyes on the route ahead of them. It was answer enough. Athara couldn't help the sigh that escaped as she turned her eyes back to the landscape around them. It was another several moments before Athara couldn't stand the silence anymore.

"You shouldn't have, you know. If they find out you were involv—"

"They won't." He sounded so confident. Athara felt anything but.

"How can you know that?"

"I just do." She fixed him with a skeptical stare, one that he mildly ignored.

"Still. It was a risk you shouldn't have taken," she hesitated, but before she could speak again, he started talking, his voice low and deceptively calm. She could feel his worry and uncertainty simmering, but it was far fainter than she had ever known it in the past. He was growing stronger and more confident, she realized with a start. A faint smile came unbidden to her lips.

"Yes, it was. Whether High Command wants to admit it or not, the Alliance needs you as an ally. You're more help to us out here. And, well—" he paused for a moment in a way that caused a faint blush to rise to Athara's cheeks, "—I need you." He cleared his throat before continuing.

"We both know that General Draven was steadfast against you being let out of custody, no matter how well you co-operated. So when I heard talk of your imprisonment being extended indefinitely, I knew that we were going to have to get you out another way. Besides," he hesitated, as if gauging what her reaction was going to be, "other than my thought to leave directions to Ben's hut with N3 and get him back to you, none of it was my plan or even my idea." Athara frowned.

"Commander Adyé?" This time it was her turn to hesitate, the name sticking in her throat. Luke glanced over at her before continuing.

"Yeah. It was his idea. Though, neither of us expected Mona Jengal to get herself involved." Athara started. Luke glanced over again in concern, his bright blue gaze meeting hers for a brief moment.

"Mona?" She tried to adopt an unaffected tone; it didn't work. For a brief moment the young Jedi actually contemplated stopping the speeder, but decided against it at the last moment.

"She approached him, actually. She was curious about, well, uh— you know, if there was any relation, and when she found out not only that you were in Rebel custody but that he was sympathetic to you—saw you as an Imperial defector, or an asset rather than a threat, etcetera, etcetera—she wanted to help. Especially when she found out about Draven’s intention to keep you locked up and Adyé's plan to free you, she insisted on helping. She was quite convincing, apparently," here he hesitated again, deciding how to continue, "even before she told him about your link to her family." Athara blanched. Guilt and regret over the Jengals’ fate surged forward, swamping her as she tried to regain control over her emotions. Luke was patient, waiting for her to recover.

"She shouldn't have done that. She didn't have to. She doesn't owe me anything." Luke frowned at the level of remorse in her voice.

"I'm not sure Mona thought of it as a matter of owing, Athara. She wanted to help you because she sees you as family."

"She shouldn't. It's because of me that her family is gone." Athara was suddenly on the verge of tears, but she pushed them back. The temptation to pull from the Dark Side surged then…and she was so close to giving in; anger felt so right in that moment. "If I hadn't run—" It was Luke's voice that snapped her out of it.

"You'd be dead. The Jengals are gone because of Palpatine, not you." Athara didn't have a response to that. She knew that it was Palpatine's order that had torn the Jengal family apart, but she couldn't help the feelings of guilt and responsibility that gnawed at her. Luke navigated the speeder around one final rock outcropping, bringing a small hut atop a bluff overlooking the Dune Sea into view. Neither of them spoke as he brought the speeder to a halt on the far side of the lonely little building. But even after he shut it down, neither of them moved from their seats. Finally, Luke sighed, breaking the silence between them.

"It was Mona that you made your promise to, wasn't it. She never said it explicitly but, Adyé and I, we wondered," he glanced over as Athara's hand instinctively went to the pendant around her neck. He didn't need her to answer, her tumultuous emotions were answer enough. He sighed before speaking again.

"She did what she did because she believes in you, Athara, just as I do. Even now, you haven't fallen back on the Dark Side; I can feel it. Together, I really think we have a chance of beating the Emperor." He reached out, taking the hand she had clenched around the pebble pendant into his own.

A wave of calm overtook her as his fingers closed around hers, and for the first time in weeks, she felt like she could breathe freely. On an impulse she leaned over, placing a quick kiss on her Farmboy's lips, thanking him without the words that she couldn't seem to find anyway. As she pulled away, he smiled before leaning forward himself and, a little more enthusiastically, returned the kiss. Then he pulled away himself before all but leaping from the speeder.

"Come on. Let me show you around. You won't believe all the material Ben had tucked away on the Jedi." Athara couldn't help but laugh at his excitement. Gone was the calm, poised Jedi from moments before. Now he was like a little boy, eagerly showing off his toys. After checking that N3 was all right—he was, and was already happily greeting Artoo, who had trundled up almost immediately at the sound of their arrival—she followed Luke inside the little hut.

A little thrill of excitement went through her at the thought of being in Kenobi's home. She couldn't help but feel there were answers here, though part of her was nervous to find out what they were.

It was a humble little dwelling; one main room with sparse furnishings. There was really very little to show, but Athara was fascinated nonetheless. She could almost feel the old Jedi's Force-signature lingering in the hut. Luke had been living in the dwelling for a couple of weeks now, and figured he had discovered most of its secrets. He uncovered a mostly hidden hatchway that led to a second space underneath the main one the first day he'd been there.

It was made up of a main room, a workroom really, about the size of the main room above, and a small, unfinished chamber, a bedroom judging by the scattered furniture, that projected underground beyond the main hut's exterior boundaries. During his time there so far, it appeared as though Luke had been working away at finishing the smaller room.

It was in the larger basement room that he had found Kenobi's writings on the Jedi and other materials the older Jedi must had recovered from the Order after its fall. There were several old holopads and a small but organized box of datachips secreted away in a far corner, beneath a workbench that Kenobi had obviously used for tinkering and small mechanical paraphernalia. Luke had also found a small chest hidden beneath a handful of other parts boxes that held items he hadn't quite discerned the use of yet. Athara had recognized them immediately.

"Lightsaber components. Force, there are kyber crystals here! Power cells, field conductors, modulation circuits; Luke, there might be enough materials here for each of us to build a lightsaber." She looked up at him, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Luke looked at her for a moment, a considering look on his face.

"What about the lightsaber I have?" Athara's gaze dropped to the lightsaber on Luke's belt, and her thoughts went to the weapon hidden among her things.

"It isn't yours, though." Luke frowned for a moment, his own gaze dropping to the weapon hooked at his waist. Athara left the box on the workbench, scaling the narrow steps up into the main room and out to the speeder. It took a little looking, but she did manage to find what she was looking for among the variety of supplies she and N3 had packed into the cargo compartment. By the time she straightened with Kenobi's lightsaber in hand, Luke had followed her out, and was watching her with a look of curiosity on his face, especially when he caught sight of the lightsaber in her hand.

"Wait," his voice was hesitant, "I thought you said Vader took your lightsaber."

"He did." Athara had walked over to him, sitting on a perfect sitting-height section of wall of the hut. She couldn't seem to find the words she needed to explain it to him.

From where she sat she could see out over the Jundland Wastes and past to the Dune Sea. Evening was approaching, suffusing the landscape in rich golds and bronzes. After a moment Luke sat beside her. She still felt horrible about keeping her past from him in the first place, but even now that he knew, she still hesitated in sharing any of it; she was so afraid of seeing a look in his eyes like the one in Leia's or Han's or Chewie's or, well, anyone's when they realized who, and what, she was. She finally held up the worn lightsaber hilt, handing it to the young Jedi.

"This isn't mine. It's Kenobi's. I've been using it because the blade colour on mine was too distinctive. I couldn't risk anyone putting the pieces together," she couldn't meet Luke's startled gaze.

"Where did you get this?" She could feel that he didn't mean it as such, but the accusing cast to his voice was enough to make Athara flinch.

"I was there, on the Death Star, when Vader killed Kenobi. I took it from his robes after the Blast Door was jammed. I still don't know why, but I was furious at Vader for k—for what he did, so I took it. And then I was on the run, and it was too widely known that my blade was red, like my Master's, so I couldn't use mine anymore when I risked used a lightsaber at all. I hid it on my ship or with N3, in one of his compartments, while I carried this one. But then Bespin happened. I got my lightsaber out again, and hid Kenobi's. It was my lightsaber Vader took." When Luke didn't respond, Athara tentatively reached out with the Force, anxiety beginning to build in the pit of her stomach. He was so troubled, but she couldn't be sure just what it was that was bothering him.

It was a long time before he spoke. Off in the distance, the twin suns were beginning to make their way toward the horizon, the sky now bathed in vibrant pinks and oranges.

"Did you know?" Luke's voice was hesitant, and Athara instinctively knew what was coming. "Did you know Vader was my father?" He looked over at her, and she could see in his eyes that he could feel that she knew. It was a long moment before she answered him.

"No. Not until Bespin. Not until he told me. Then again, I'm not sure he even meant to tell me at all," she answered quietly. He frowned.

"What do you mean?" She met his gaze, formulating how to explain what had transpired between her and her Master. Her eyes dropped after a moment, catching sight of the weapon still hooked at his waist.

"He saw I was holding that." She gestured to the lightsaber hanging from his belt. "I don't even think he meant to say anything, but he said he should have known Kenobi would give you his lightsaber. At first I couldn't understand why he said that, then I couldn't believe it...but now..."

"You do," he finished, his voice betraying his own pain at the revelation. She nodded. He had been hoping he was wrong, that Vader had tricked him, even though his feelings told him otherwise. Part of him was still refusing to believe it and she imagined he would still for some time, possibly even until he heard it from Kenobi himself. Part of her was still hoping it was a lie, but the Force told her it was the truth, as did her own reason. After a moment she sighed, feeling like she owed him more of an explanation.

"The first lightsaber I ever held was Vader's. I know it as well as I know my own. A lightsaber is unique to its owner, Luke. No two Jedi or Sith lightsabers are the same. My Master always used to say that a lightsaber is an extension of its owner, built to complement its wielder's fighting style and personality. _It is your life_ , he liked reminding me. When the first one I ever made was irreparably damaged, the second one I built to replace it looked almost exactly the same. I didn't even intend it to. It just happened. Vader's lightsaber looks just like that one, with very few differences beyond the colour of the blade. When I realized that, I knew.

"There was so much more than that, though. I realize now that the evidence was right in front of me all along." The frown returned to Luke's face when she paused, though he waited patiently for her to continue. She couldn't help but notice the change; before Bespin he would have questioned her, urging her to explain what she meant, pressing her for information. It seemed he had learned a hard lesson in caution, and in patience. She instantly regretted that he'd had to learn it the way he did.

After a moment, though, she began to elaborate. She explained how, through the information she had found on Kenobi when she had first gone on the run, the incidental information on Anakin Skywalker contained clues that she felt she should have seen. Her possession of the holofiles on Kenobi and his apprentice was all new to Luke, as she had never shared the information she had found for fear that it would raise too many questions. At first he seemed a little hurt that she had kept them from him, but he was soon too absorbed by what she was telling him for the emotion to linger.

Besides that, hearing more about his father, before his fall at least, seemed to work as a bit of a balm to Luke. He was still so troubled by Vader's revelation, and was desperately fighting the feelings of betrayal that were gnawing at him. It helped him to hear that Anakin Skywalker had been a good man. For Athara, in relating what little she had learned of him, she could see traits the Jedi had passed to his son, noticing similarities that she hadn't before.

It was also a concern, though. In some respects Luke and Anakin were so much alike; eager for adventure, periodically reckless, capable and devoted commanders, natural leaders, utterly selfless at times and steadfastly loyal to those they cared about. She couldn't help but wonder at whether those shared traits would make Luke as vulnerable to the Dark Side as Anakin had evidently been.

They continued on talking quietly for a while, though it was mostly Athara relating everything she knew of Kenobi and Anakin. Eventually though, she fell quiet.

"What did you mean, what you said to Leia on the medical frigate?" Luke asked softly, breaking the silence not long after it had fallen. Athara frowned at Luke's question. He didn't miss it and promptly continued "you said something about despair. What were you talking about?" He sounded tired and heart-sore. Athara suddenly understood, and suddenly didn't want to talk about it. But the earnest look of curiosity on her Farmboy's face prodded her on.

"She asked me once, as we were about to transfer to the Death Star after she'd been captured, what drove Vader. I didn't know then. It wasn't until Hoth that I finally understood." He frowned a little when she mentioned the ice planet, but waited patiently for her to continue. She took a shaking breath to try and settle her nerves; what had happened between her and her Master on Hoth still haunted her. It didn't work.

"Vader and I, we—reunited on Hoth, as I was trying to reach my fighter. He felt betrayed that I was there, with the Alliance, and—and Force-choked me in his pain and rage." Luke's eyes widened in shock, but Athara pressed on, afraid she'd be unable to continue if she stopped now. "But then he let me go and I—I felt a side of him I hadn't before. The most overwhelming well of guilt and despair I have ever encountered. And it wasn't just borne out of realizing what he was doing to me, what he almost did. It was—more. It consumes him. I can barely even describe it. It's that despair that drives him—not hate—of that I am completely certain.

"There is good in him." the words slipped out as she finished before Athara could stop them. Luke started a little, his brow furrowing. But he didn't say anything. Athara was fairly certain he wanted to, but couldn't find the right words. She knew how he felt. She was still struggling with the truths she had learned, but her feelings and Qui-gon's hope had her convinced that she was right. "Anakin is still in there."

"How can you be sure?" Luke's voice wavered, and Athara could tell that part of him hoped she was right, but he was fighting against everything he knew about Vader, or really, everything he had known. If she was having a hard time of it, she couldn't imagine what he was going through. She'd been raised by Vader. She had seen glimpses of the good that allowed her to believe now the Dark Side hadn't consumed him completely. She knew him. He had only ever known the stories, and had seen his Aunt and Uncle's charred bodies, had watched Vader murder his mentor and had learned that the Dark Lord of the Sith was his father. She could understand why he couldn't quite believe it.

"I know him. I have since I was a child. I've seen a side of him that makes no sense given what he is…unless Anakin is still in there. I can't shake the feeling that he's fighting the Darkness; that he's—" She couldn't quite find the words she needed, but she just couldn't explain it. It was a feeling. By now the suns had set, a gentle glow on the horizon all that was left of the merciless orbs. It was a spectacular sight, one that was followed close behind by the rising of the first of Tatooine's three moons even as the total darkness that characterized the desert night deepened.

It was then that the way to show him came to mind; a memory, one that she had almost forgotten. But actually sharing it was going to be hard. She was still not good at voicing anything personal. But she had to. No matter how angry and hurt she was at her Master's actions, she still cared for him. She could admit that, at least.

It took several minutes to muster up the courage to start speaking, but once she had, she found that she couldn't stop.

It had been right after he had taken her back from the Jengals, possibly even that first night away from them. She had been afraid of the dark back then. But she had tried to put on a brave face; she hadn't wanted to show any weakness in front of her new Master. But he had known, somehow, that behind her quiet goodnight after he had ensured she was settled in her bunk, that she was nervous, dreading that moment when he turned off the light.

"What is it you are afraid of, youngling?" She couldn't help but remember how surprisingly gentle he had sounded.

"Nothing," she had said, far too quickly. He had fixed her with a knowing look, one that she recognized then even without the Force. She couldn't help but curl in on herself as she admitted it: "could you leave the light on?" A thoughtful silence had followed before he spoke again.

"You fear the dark." It wasn't a question. She hadn't been able to help how her five-year old cheeks had flamed red when she nodded. After a long moment he had come over to sit on the end of her bunk.

"Close your eyes." She had been startled. She had been expecting a rebuke or, well, something else. He watched her expectantly until she did. Then, reaching out with the Force, he had deactivated the lights, plunging the room into darkness. She knew because she had, ever so faintly, felt the action through the Force herself. She also knew because the warm glow from the other side of her eyelids was gone. She let out a frightened squeak, nearly opening her eyes in panic. But then a large, gloved hand had come to rest on her small shoulder, sending an involuntary wave of comfort through her. He made her feel safe in that moment, and even now she still didn't quite know why.

"Keep you eyes closed, little one, just for a few moments. " They sat together, in the dark for a few minutes, just as her new Master had instructed. Finally, he told her to open her eyes.

"What do you see?" Athara was astonished. She knew now that he had just allowed for her eyes to adjust, but her five-year-old self had imagined it was some sort of magic. She could see the room around her; the bunk, the little dresser across the room, the desk beside it and the tiny closet beyond that. It was still dark, but it wasn't the all-encompassing, pitch-black dark that came as soon as someone turned out the lights.

Vader had still been sitting at the end of her bunk, watching her. Behind him was a small window. She couldn't remember what planet they had been on, but she remembered that there had been two distant moons, for both of them had hung in slim crescents through that window. Vader had turned then, to look out that window. No matter where they had gone, if it had been at all possible, her Master had always ensured she had a window in her quarters.

"There is always light somewhere. When those moons are full, it will seem almost as bright as day. But there will also be nights when there is no moon. It will be harder, but you will still be able to see without the lights as you do now. And you will have the Force to aid you. You can use it to enhance your eyes to see in greater darkness than this when you have learned to control it. You will be able to feel everything around you. The Force is your ally, Athara. You will always have it by your side.

"You need never fear the dark again." He had been silent for a moment after he had finished. But then he had laid a gentle hand on her head before standing and leaving her to sleep.

Now, though, looking back on the memory, Athara couldn't help but think that he had been talking about more than the dark.

Luke hadn't looked at her the entire time she spoke, instead looking out over the rocky wasteland before them as overhead the stars began appearing. Athara hadn't even realized that silent tears had begun trickling down her cheeks. After hastily brushing them aside, she reached out to Luke, taking his hand in hers.

"You say you see the good in me. Well, I can see the good in him. I think I have always been able to, I just didn't know it. I can only hope that, maybe, we can help him see it too." Relief coursed through her when, instead of pulling away, his fingers tightened around hers.


	23. Chapter 22

Athara was never going to get used to Tatooine. She couldn't understand how Luke did it, but then, she supposed being raised here had appropriately acclimatized him. She had spent most of her life in space, so Tatooine was definitely not agreeing with her. By now it had been several weeks since she had arrived, and beyond the first few stressful days, she and Luke had managed to settle back into the comfortable companionship they'd had on Dagobah.

But it was more than that now, which did create an awkwardness of its own. They both knew there was more between them, but neither was quite sure how that changed things yet. But they were learning. By the end of the second week, Athara found that they had adapted to the shift in their relationship far easier than she had anticipated. But then, their common goals didn't hurt.

There was a wealth of knowledge hidden away in Kenobi's hut, and much of it seemed geared toward learning the ways of the Force. To Athara, it looked like Kenobi had been preparing for the possibility that Luke was going to be on his own for at least some portion of his training.

It made her wonder what else the old Jedi had known was coming.

But he hadn't been around to ask, and Athara knew that bothered Luke. Apparently the last time Luke had seen his mentor had been on Dagobah. But the texts Kenobi had left were wonderful and between Luke and Athara putting their heads together to muddle through them, they were both making remarkable progress. But the young Jedi missed the contact with his mentor, and boy did Athara know that feeling. Not only did she long for her Master's guidance (sort of...), but she missed Qui-gon's wisdom too. Like Kenobi, her own ghostly mentor hadn't made an appearance since she had arrived on Tatooine.

But there was nothing they could do about that. So they trained, and week after week they both found their powers growing. Luke was quickly becoming more confident in his abilities, and was allowing himself to trust in the Force far more easily than ever before. Even Athara was able to slowly work through her own self-trust issues, allowing her to let go of her negative feelings far more easily as the days passed.

And the weeks did pass, far too easily even, and before long they found there was a need to venture out for supplies. The provisions Athara had brought to the hut hadn't quite lasted as long as she had hoped, but then, she wasn't from a desert planet.

She also wasn't keen on venturing into the settlements. Whether they went to the small, isolated towns and hamlets or the large ports, there was a risk of them being discovered. It was a risk Athara was wary to take. But she and Luke needed supplies if they were going to be staying at Kenobi's old hovel while they trained.

Because of that simple, unavoidable fact, the first time they ventured out, they went as far as Mos Eisley. Athara was rather nervous the entire time, but it was a venture without incident, and one that was immensely successful. Not only did they manage to track down all the supplies they needed, but Luke also managed to get his hands on an old long-range communication device; one they could both use to connect with their contacts off-world. It needed a lot of work—not that that was problem with two very handy astro-droids and Luke's own tinkering skills—but Athara was especially pleased that he managed to recover it. She'd had very little luck with her contacts on Corellia, Nubia, Coruscant and Ansion, and was already paranoid about the amount of time she had been forced to spend at the public communication stations, especially as it seemed Luke hadn't had much luck with his Rebel contacts either. However, he had managed to contact Chewie; unfortunately that was the only good news.

Fett had tricked them all. He had made it seem like he was waiting out on Nar Shadda, the assumption being that he was trying to extort more money out of Jabba; they had been wrong. He'd known he was being watched—something that hadn't really surprised Athara, given her past dealings with him—and was merely biding his time before somehow managing to slip away without being noticed until it was too late. Next they had heard, Fett had delivered Han into Jabba's hands. That had been nearly a standard month previous.

It was enough to put a damper on the entire trip.

The second time they had ventured out, the two Jedi trainees made their way to Anchorhead. They had considered Bestine, as its size would have lent some measure of anonymity, but Luke knew Anchorhead far better, and knew exactly where they could go and needed to go. Plus she knew part of him longed to go back there. Even though he had dreamed of leaving the desert planet for almost as long as he could remember, she had always been able to sense the nostalgia when he spoke of his childhood home. She could sense that he needed the closure.

Just like with the drive to Mos Eisley, the trip into Anchorhead was pleasantly uneventful and unpleasantly hot. Once they reached the town limits, they decided to split up, each managing a section of the list she and Luke had come up with. That way they could be done quicker, and thus have less of a chance of being discovered by someone unfriendly. As it was, Luke admitted to her later that not as many people had recognized him as he'd expected, even those he'd known most of his life. Athara couldn't say that surprised her, considering how much he had grown into himself in the years she'd known him alone. Though she still saw him as her Farmboy, she knew he was no longer the naïve young pilot she'd first met, appearing now as the powerful, assured Jedi he was becoming.

Determined to keep the outing quick, as Luke went on his own way on his separate errands, Athara looked around for a suitable shop or stand, debating whether to get food, tools or supplies first.

A faint tremor in the Force suddenly drew her gaze to a small fruit stand where an older woman was bustling around, straightening her wares. Curious as to why her attention had been drawn to this particular stand, she made her way over to it, shifting the basket she carried so she could adjust the light wrap she wore to shield her fair skin from the twin suns. She approached the woman carefully, speaking up so as not to startle her too much.

"Excuse me?" The woman turned around at the sound of Athara's voice, her care-worn features turning to take in the former Sith apprentice. Athara smiled, but before she could speak, the woman's kind eyes widened in her tanned face.

"Neva?" Athara frowned. There was something about that name…the Force seemed to hum around her. It was a strange sensation.

"I'm sorry, but I think you've mistaken me for someone else." The woman blinked in confusion, an embarrassed look coming to her face a moment later.

"Oh, dear. Forgive me, miss. The suns play tricks on the eyes sometimes. But, I do have to say, you do look awfully familiar. Like someone I used to know…" she trailed off, her eyes glazing slightly with either thought or memory. But in a blink, the look was gone, and her eyes cleared.

"Is there something I can help you with, dear?" Athara nodded, launching into the list of suggestions Luke had made. It wasn't long before she had collected everything she could purchase from the woman, Clara's, stand and had directions to other places where she could pick up the rest of her items.

As she was about to bid Clara a good day, she hesitated. That name wasn't leaving her alone.

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask…who was it that you thought I was?" Clara looked startled for a minute, a wary look in her eyes.

"She was a young woman, a little older then than you are now, if I could guess, who I knew many years ago. She would come into Anchorhead once a month or so to do her shopping, sometimes more when she was with the Whitesun girl and the baby. She lived out in the middle of nowhere, near to the Jundland Wastes; a bit of a crazy choice, though, as her accent said she wasn't Tatooine-born and that's a hard place to live, even for native-borns. I think Bestine would have been closer, but she always said her husband had business near Anchorhead." Around her the Force seemed to hum expectantly, but Athara ignored it. It wasn't the most satisfying answer, but then, what had she expected? Clara's expression turned thoughtful for a moment.

"Just how old are you, dear?" Clara asked kindly. Athara's frown returned, a nervous laugh escaping her lips.

"I've not been on Tatooine long, if that's what you're thinking, and before that I've only ever been in orbit." Clara gave her a searching look, waiting patiently for Athara to answer the question. Athara sighed.

"Twenty-one standard years." The thoughtful expression didn't fade, but a satisfied glimmer appeared in Clara's eyes. It made Athara a little uneasy. She was still curious about this mystery woman, though.

"Whatever happened to—Neva was it?" Clara frowned, her expression downcast and even sad.

"I'm not entirely sure. One time, she came into town as she always did, buying supplies. She was positively glowing, she was so happy. I, of course, had my suspicions and was very curious to know if I was right. Whatever it was, though, I couldn't get it out of her. And believe me, I tried," the old woman chuckled slightly before she turned sombre again, "I never saw her again after that. I saw her husband again, though, just once or twice. Finally I asked him about her, he just got this sad look in his eye, like a part of his world was gone. I knew then that something bad had happened. I didn't even have to ask. I just knew. After that, I only ever saw him once or maybe twice a year, and he always seemed to deliberately steer clear of me.

"I never saw her again," she finished sadly. A strange, sinking feeling washed over Athara, followed by a shadow of grief. She shook her head a little, trying to clear the feeling. It left her with the sense that she wouldn't be able to stop thinking about the story.

Thanking Clara for her time, Athara moved on, not realizing she was fleeing until she passed the next shop she needed to visit. She shook her head again, scolding herself.

Clara's story must've really affected her.

Thankfully, the rest of her list didn't take long to gather, nor did it prove quite as baffling. Before long she had met Luke back at the speeder and soon after they were beginning to make their way back to the hut. But Athara was distracted, barely saying a word.

"What is it?" Athara was so lost in thought that she almost didn't hear Luke's question.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just something this one vendor in Anchorhead was talking about. Clara, I think her name was." Luke chuckled a little, drawing Athara's gaze.

"Yeah, Clara's had her stand in Anchorhead for as long as I can remember. I swear she knows everyone who comes and goes from there, and never seems to forget anyone. She used to call me Beru's boy, but she always called Aunt Beru the Whitesun girl. She wasn't telling you stories about me, was she?" he laughed good-naturedly, but Athara was once again lost in thought. Something Luke said sounded familiar

"Whitesun girl," she murmured distractedly. Luke heard her anyway, though he misinterpreted her tone for confusion.

"Yeah, my Aunt Beru was a Whitesun before she married my Uncle. That didn't seem to stop Clara, though. She never stopped calling her that." He was still smiling broadly at the memory, though when he glanced over and saw the look on Athara's face, he hesitated, concern appearing on his features when he saw how troubled she seemed. Athara didn't notice the look, focused as she was on trying to place what he'd said. Then it hit her.

"It was your Aunt. She knew her!" Luke frowned, not following where Athara's thoughts had gone.

"Knew who?"

"Neva," she responded, her mind whirring. Luke's frown deepened.

"I feel like I know that name. Why? Who is she?" Athara's frown mirrored Luke's.

"I don't know, but I feel like she's important, somehow." She proceeded to relate the story Clara had told her. Luke listened in silence. After she finished, neither of them spoke the rest of the way back to Kenobi's place.

To say the story had left her unsettled was an understatement. It gnawed at the back of her thoughts, just as many of the other unsolved mysteries and problems she had come across did; how to free Han from Jabba; how to deal with the Princess; her inexplicable curiosity about Kenobi; Vader's baffling duality; her relationship to Vader; her own past... The list seemed to go on forever, sometimes.

By now, though, she was used to storing away thoughts of the things she couldn't understand or figure out. So, instead of allowing herself to disappear inside her head to try in vain to find answers she didn't have, she instead threw herself head first into her and Luke's training, especially as she hoped answers to the problems they faced would present themselves as her training progressed. And part of that work included preparing parts to build herself a new lightsaber.

That was precisely what she was doing when Luke came down to meet her in Kenobi's workroom several weeks after their trip to Anchorhead. She was sitting at the workbench, working at cleaning up a set of alloy casings she was intending to use for housing her new saber's power unit. She was so intent on what she was doing that he was loathe to disturb her, especially as he was sure she didn't know he was there. But as he began to move away, she spoke.

"Do you think you could bring over the box with the set of micro-spanners?" Behind her, she could hear his faint, almost exasperated laugh. After a moment, a small box was placed beside her.

"Am I ever going to be able to surprise you?" His tone was so light that Athara couldn't help but chuckle in reply.

"Probably not, but feel free to keep trying," she threw back, her voice as light as his as she turned her face toward his to smirk playfully.

Almost as soon as she did he had captured her lips in a searing kiss. It caught her so off guard that she could do nothing but grab hold of the bench with one hand and his shirt with the other as her mind went utterly and deliciously blank. After a moment, he pulled away, a mischievous smile playing across his features. Athara was stunned.

"How about now," he teased, a faint hesitant cast to his features. Athara was admittedly still reeling, her heart hammering, but that didn't stop her from responding back.

"That worked," she murmured breathlessly before pulling herself unsteadily to her feet to return the favour, her arms winding around his neck of their own accord as she kissed him feverishly back. She couldn't help the grin that came to her lips when he gasped in surprise, not expecting her rather vehement response. But he recovered quickly enough, his arms wrapping around her just as tightly as she was clinging to him, her lips parting against his. It was a good thing too, because she was soon melting against him, an involuntary moan escaping her as his hand found its way into her hair as he pressed her back against the workbench. It was a heady, delicious feeling, having his body pressed so completely against hers, her skin warming with exhilaration at her Farmboy's touch even through the roughspun tunic she wore. She wanted him closer, and judging by the way he was holding her, so did he.

It was only when a loud crash sounded beside them that the spell was broken. In their enthusiasm, one of them had kicked over a stack of boxes stashed just under the bench. Athara couldn't stop the heat from flooding to her face as she realized what had just happened, and neither could she help but grin at the matching flush that was rising to Luke's face as well. A rather bashful smile crept across his features he backed away from her, though his hand seemed reluctant to leave her waist.

With an indistinct murmur about the crates, Luke ducked down to start cleaning up the tools and parts now strewn across the floor. Still working on regaining her own breath, she knelt down beside him to help. Only now she was acutely aware of how close he was to her, hypersensitive to every movement and every touch, inadvertent or otherwise. She couldn't stop glancing over at him, their matching blushes reasserting themselves every time they caught the other's furtive look.

Then she caught a glimpse of something back behind the overturned boxes that distracted her completely. There was a faint worn spot on the wall that didn't quite match up with the boxes, some of which had obviously been there a while judging by the long settled dust and sand. After shifting the boxes that remained in front of the spot, she ran her fingers over the area. She was rewarded with a faint, but distinctive seam hidden among the grimy stucco that covered the wall. Reaching out with the Force she probed further, finally using it to pull the hidden panel from the wall when she found no latches or mechanisms.

She could feel Luke pause beside her at the questioning frown that bloomed across her features as she pulled a very dusty case out from behind the workbench. It was old and not terribly large, just over a foot long at the most and almost as deep with a dull, dark burnished outer surface made even duller by years of grime. It was locked.

Neither of them spoke, their newfound shyness momentarily forgotten as they bent to examine the case.

"I don't think it's been touched in years," Luke said quietly as he examined the locking mechanism, an almost ancient looking touchpad that probably seemed older than it was thanks to the layers of dirt and sand that coated it. A feeling like those that had always accompanied her visions surfaced in Athara as she looked down at the case, only this time it was subtly different. It wasn't foreboding, but something more like anticipation. It made her wary. Something waited for her inside that case.

"Here," Athara murmured, her eyes closing in concentration as she placed her hand over the mechanism, reaching out through the Force again. She was in luck. It wasn't an electronic lock, which she wasn't as good at manipulating with her thoughts, but rather an older style tumbler lock integrated with a more protective magnetic lock and seal. After a few moments of concentrating on working the tumblers she managed to find the right combination, the mechanism clicking faintly beneath her fingers. Another moment of work managed to disconnect the magnetic portion of the lock from its power source. Around her, it seemed the Force was humming with anticipation. With a glance at Luke, she opened the case.

Inside was a datapad, a small holoprojector, actual paper journals and several other small bits of memorabilia along with an odd shaped package or two. Everything inside was in pristine condition thanks to the tight seal of the case. Luke was the first to reach in, picking up the datapad that lay on top. Unfortunately, though, the powerpack was exhausted. With a like-minded glance passing between the two of them, Luke set it aside until they could get it charged.

Athara, meanwhile, had picked up one of the paper journals. It was in better condition than she was anticipating, likely thanks to the dry heat of Tatooine and the seal on the case. The wary feeling intensified as she turned it over in her hands, and as she cautiously opened it, Qui-gon's long absent presence faintly reappeared. He was urging caution…patience. It was bewildering; no sooner had his presence appeared than it was gone. As she began skimming the first few pages, Luke had pulled out one of the packages, carefully beginning to unwrap it. He was interrupted, though, at a startled gasp from Athara. His bright gaze shot to her in concern. She was now reading it intently; she couldn't tear her eyes from the page.

"Athara? What is it?" It was as if she couldn't hear him, she was so engrossed. It took him saying her name a second time for her to pull herself away from the neat, precise writing.

"Kenobi. He wrote this—it must have been when he brought you here." Luke frowned, but Athara didn't seem to notice, her gaze now caught on some distant thought. "He wrote about delivering you to your Aunt and Uncle; how Owen was wary at first and Beru didn't hesitate to take you in."

"Wait, brought me here? From where?" Again, it was like he wasn't even there. She didn't even seem to process that he'd spoken. But then her gaze focused, and she fixed him in her blue-gray gaze.

"Neva was with him." Now it was Luke who was startled. He obviously hadn't expected her to bring up the woman Clara had told Athara about.

"Neva?"

"Neva. She came here with Obi-wan…and you. She helped him bring you here." A troubled expression came over Luke's face.

"Who was she?"

"I don't know yet," Athara shrugged, flipping through the pages, pausing every now and them to read a sentence or two, "but she was important to him. Really important; she's everywhere in here. These must be his personal journals. We'll have to read the rest of this stuff to find out, I suppose." She flipped back to the beginning, scanning a few more sentences before closing it again, laying it in Luke's proffered hand. It was only then that she glanced over to the package Luke had sitting in his lap. It was a carefully wrapped bundle of fabric. Athara couldn't help but think it was beautiful; a luscious, shimmering coppery-green material, a glimmer of rich green and copper beaded strands hidden among the folds.

"It's a dress," she murmured, reaching out to touch it. But she hesitated, suddenly aware of how grimy her hands were. Beside her, Luke's brow was furrowed in thought.

"She was living with Obi-wan, and it looks like she became friends with my Aunt because of me; to watch over me…Neva…" something clicked then, she could see it in his face, "I think I remember her. Not clearly, but I think I remember her." Athara's eyes went wide at the admission. Luke's blue eyes were suddenly fixed on her.

"You don't think she could be—you know—maybe—" but he couldn't finish the thought. Athara knew what he meant, though. She could only shrug. The Force had gone quiet around her.

"I don't know. If she is…" but she couldn't finish the thought either. It didn't feel right. "What do your feelings say?" Luke closed his eyes, a look of deep concentration coming over his face as he reached for the Force. As he went quiet, his breaths lengthening as he communed with the Force, Athara's eyes went back to the dress. Her mind was curiously blank, though. Her feelings were not clear, though one thing was certain; this Neva was connected to everything, and everything was connected. That she was certain of.

"No," he finally breathed, breaking Athara's mindless focus. There was a hint of disappointment in his voice, but there was also acceptance, "she's not." Athara could only reach out to him, laying a sympathetic hand on his arm. After a moment he cleared his throat, laying the journal back into the case.

"But still, this is incredible. I mean, who knows what could be in here. If any of these are Ben's from before my Father turned—" the anticipation was back in his eyes, and Athara could feel it growing in her as well. Once again, she was able to finish his thought, because she was thinking the same thing as well.

"—maybe we can find out _why_ he turned," Luke met her gaze again, nodding as she spoke, "and how to turn him back."  


	24. Chapter 23

Qui-gon had been cautioning patience; why hadn't she listened to him. If it had felt like her world had been turned upside down before, it was crashing down around her now.

Though their initial excitement and curiosity at the mysterious hidden crate hadn't dimmed, Luke and Athara had quickly found themselves caught up and distracted by other things, the construction of their lightsabers most of all. Athara soon completed hers, having already done it a couple times before, and Luke was only another week or so behind her in completing his as well.

Plus, Luke, Artoo and N3 had, through a great deal of collaboration, managed to get the long-range communication transmitter up and running; no easy feat. Shortly after, contact with their friends had begun again, Luke spending a great deal of time musing and planning with the Princess, Chewie and Lando about how to rescue Han. It had taken some time, but he had finally managed to get Leia to accept that he was not going to turn Athara over to the Alliance. Also, according to Chewie, it had taken a great deal of work on Leia's part to get High Command to forget ideas of bringing Luke in or suspending him from his prominent place within the Alliance since he had declared responsibility for her. It was something for which Athara was immensely grateful.

Athara, on the other hand, had managed to establish contact with Bek Reem. That had been a tense conversation the first time they'd made contact.

"I imagine you've heard, then, what the Alliance is saying about me; who I really am," she had said with a great deal of trepidation. It had been ages before he'd responded, the device humming to fill the silence.

"Yeah. I have." She couldn't help but cringe at the carefully neutral tone he had used.

"I'm sorry, Reem. I wish I could say I wanted to tell you, but—" she couldn't manage to finish the thought, not quite sure what she had even wanted to say.

"I get why you never said anything, you know." She had been stunned into silence, so much so that he'd had to ask if she was still there.

"You have no idea how much that means to me. You're one of the first real friends I ever had." It had taken a lot of effort to say, but Athara felt that she'd had to say it. After all, he had accepted the truth of her identity with almost no reaction at all, as though she had told him her natural hair colour was blonde, or some such other trivial revelation.

"You do know mushy doesn't really suit you, right?" His voice had been even gruffer than usual. Athara knew what that meant; he was moved but, like her, wasn't used to sharing feelings like that.

"It wasn't really that much of a surprise, to be honest." He continued, leaving the sentimental interlude behind. Athara frowned in bewilderment.

"Really?" She heard a faint rustle and figured he was shrugging absently.

"Knew you were something. Just didn't know exactly what. I think Madal knew all along, though. Just looked at me with a look that said 'obviously' when it came out." Athara withheld a groan, though she couldn't stop the way her lips curled in chagrin.

"The ship…it had to be because of the ship." She muttered, still a little flustered that the Duro had seen through her from the beginning.

"And the hood, and the timing, and the credits…your reactions to mention of the Empire. Apparently he figured it out pretty quickly." This time Athara did groan.

"I should have known. I should have known he knew," she muttered. Madal was clever, she had to grant him that. It was also impressive that he had kept his knowledge of her identity from her; no easy task for most beings. Her already considerable respect for the Duro went up a notch further. Again, she heard a faint sound that told her Reem had shrugged.

After that, he'd agreed to send her data bursts of any information he managed to scrounge up for current intelligence on the Alliance and the Empire. He also agreed to keep and ear to the ground for any information in particular on Han. He was good on his word, feeding them information on a semi-regular basis, keeping her and Luke somewhat informed despite their isolated stay on Tatooine.

Now that they knew Han was imprisoned within Jabba's palace, they could begin to plan how to get him free. It took several weeks of intense planning and one rather tense meeting with Leia, Lando and Chewie to work out kinks and problems, but a viable plan came together relatively quickly.

It had been hard on Athara, not just because of Leia's lingering, rather open hostility, but because it had been decided early on that she was to have a painfully minor role in the rescue, despite her widely acknowledged skills and previous experience. She was the only one to know anything about Jabba's Palace—though she had never been to Tatooine, she had been instructed to familiarize herself with the compound had the need to 'visit' ever arisen—and she was the only one other than Chewie who had actually met Jabba personally, having dealt with him before during her time at Vader's side. Her intel, no matter that it was a bit outdated, had been invaluable, but had unsurprisingly not helped endear her to the Princess.

"I still say you should let me take care of it. It is what I am trained for," she muttered bitterly the first evening that the group had gotten together. She and Luke, along with Artoo, had travelled to Mos Eisley to meet with Leia, Lando and Chewie, and were currently holed up in a rather seedy inn not far from the underworld cantina where they had met that afternoon.

"No, Athara. I'm not about to agree to let you take that risk," Luke countered. Athara frowned, hesitating to sit on the bed for a moment; it was cleaner looking than many she had seen, but there was still the odd questionable stain that made her shudder a little. She couldn't help but be thankful that Luke had listened when she insisted they bring bedrolls and bedding of their own. She'd been in enough places like this that she knew actually using the supplied bedding was just asking for trouble.

"It'll be hardly any risk at all. I go in, take care of Jabba—which, I must say, will be a pleasure—get Han and be gone." Luke could only give her a skeptical look.

"And what would the final body count be?" Athara glared at him.

"It would depend on how many of them get in my way."

"Athara, please. Bargaining is our best option."

"You do realize he's not going to go for your bargain, right? Especially given that you're a Jedi _and_ a Rebel." Luke shrugged, but there was something in his face that triggered Athara's suspicion. The familiar foreboding feeling from her sporadic visions crept over her again. She raised an eyebrow at him. "You're expecting him to refuse you." Luke looked faintly apologetic. Athara sighed, absently rubbing her forehead with exasperation.

"This plan is getting far too complicated. You realize that, right? For instance, what happens if Leia can't wait until you get there and tries to free Han on her own; she's too impulsive, sometimes, Luke, you know that, especially about those she cares for. Or what if someone recognizes Lando? What if Jabba decides to simply kill Chewie once he has him? What if you can't get into the palace at all; Jabba doesn't like Jedi. What if Artoo isn't around when you need your lightsaber? There are so many places where it can go wrong." She was starting to sound faintly hysterical, something she scolded herself for. She wasn't used to worrying like this. After a moment he came to sit beside her, taking her hands in his, his fingers weaving together with hers.

"It won't," he said simply. He sounded so confident. Athara wished she shared his optimism.

"I'd feel better if you'd let me come with you. Jabba knows me, or rather Obscura. I'm good at this kind of thing, it was my job, my _life_ ; I can help." Luke was avoiding her gaze. Athara could easily read between the lines.

"But Leia still doesn't want me to help, does she," Athara supplied. Luke sighed heavily.

"No, well, yes, she still doesn't trust you completely, but no, that's not all of it," he said reluctantly. Athara sighed back, pulling her hands from his. His face fell a little, though he hid it quickly.

"I had hoped that she'd realize, once we all got to really talk through this, that I am of far more help with you than left behind," she muttered bitterly. He leaned over, placing a light kiss on her temple.

"I know. But like you said, it isn't a straightforward plan. The simpler we keep it, the less likely it will go wrong. Plus, you said so yourself, Jabba does know you, and no doubt he knows you are no longer with the Empire." Athara had to grant him that. Her flight from Bespin had resulted in her defection from the Empire becoming, if not general knowledge, at least no longer ignorable on the Empire's part. More than that, it was fairly widely known now that Captain Tamara was an alias of the Dark Lady Obscura, though thankfully Athara's true name was still unknown for the most part; the Alliance seemed to be keeping that tidbit of information under wraps. There was now an open bounty on her head, though she was still wanted alive, which was something. It also meant that there was a good chance that if she were to walk into Jabba's Palace that he would do his utmost to take her prisoner and claim the Emperor's rather substantial bounty just as she feared he was like to do with Luke.

That there were bounties on all their heads had proved a fortuitous circumstance, though. Boushh, the bounty hunter that had once been so persistent in his pursuit of Han, had followed Chewie to Tatooine, and had followed him to the cantina where they had met the night before. It was lucky Athara had felt him watching them. Having excused herself for a moment, she had prodded the bounty hunter, who had been disappointingly susceptible to the most basic of mind tricks, around to the back of the cantina.

Unfortunately—or rather, fortunately as it turned out—he had shaken off the mind probe she'd been attempting and tried to shoot her. Luke had felt the disturbance, and within moments he, Chewie, Leia and Lando had been arrayed around the newly dead bounty hunter with Athara. It was then that Chewie'd had the brilliant idea to strip the Ubese of his armour and gear, which Leia would then use to infiltrate Jabba's Palace. The problem of how to get Leia inside had been the admittedly sticky issue they had been trying to muddle through when the bounty hunter had distracted Athara in the first place. It was perfect, really; Leia and Boushh were of a similar stature; his helmet would hide her face and obscure her voice; Boushh was known but not well known, and thus would be easier to impersonate. Plus his name would assure Leia a measure credibility and hopefully at least some esteem within Jabba's Palace. Leia had of course protested at first, but as Chewie explained his logic she finally came around.

"You do realize you also have a bounty on your head, right? Same as Leia, Lando, anyone in the Alliance?" Athara countered, her bitterness seeping into her voice. He saw through it though. He could feel that the root of her reaction lay in her hurt at being unable to undo what had been done to Han while she'd stood by on Bespin. He laid a hand along her jawline, lifting her gaze to meet his. She couldn't help but relax at the calmness in his eyes.

"She may yet change her mind. She loves Han, and wants to free him badly enough that she will probably come around," he said quietly, his sympathetic tone holding more confidence than Athara was willing to spare on this matter. She appreciated his attempt, but they both knew that Leia was going to be irrationally stubborn in her insistence that Athara not be a part of the actual rescue.

She leaned forward then, capturing Luke's mouth with hers, letting him know just how much she appreciated his assurances. Soon they were both breathless as their kisses intensified, but as they began to lose themselves in each other's embrace, falling back on the bed, Athara jerked away, startling Luke soundly and drawing a bewildered and hurt look to his face. Athara gave him an apologetic look as she stood, gesturing pointedly toward the rest of the bed with a faint expression of disgust.

"Ah," was all he said as she went over to where they had stashed their bags, understanding completely. As soon as he had seen the room, he had immediately praised Athara for her foresight; Dagobah seemed cleaner… When she straightened holding their bedrolls, she walked back over, placing a small kiss on his cheek before beginning to prepare their sleeping arrangements.

"If it was anywhere but that bed, Farmboy," she said quietly, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she caught his eye. Laughing, he rose too, grabbing the second roll to help.

Unfortunately, Leia was just as stubborn as Athara was anticipating she'd be, and when they all went their separate ways the next day, the former Sith apprentice was disappointed but not surprised that the Princess hadn't relented. But she was still determined to help in any way she could, especially when her vision-linked feelings of foreboding only intensified when she thought on the rescue plan. Because of that, she had put Lando and Chewie in touch with Reem, in case he was able to help them with their individual preparations. She was also intent on helping Luke as best she could, tutoring him in the best ways to deal with getting into Jabba's Palace and helping him brush up on any possible Force tricks that might help him, from mind-tricks to Force-controlled manipulation.

Still, even though she and Luke had kept themselves busy with preparations and their training, the mystery of the hidden case and its contents continued to call to them both. Luke was desperate for any information on his family and his past. Athara was desperate for information on, well, anything. It took them a while to access the information on the datapad. The powerpack had been so depleted that it was beyond recharging, so reading anything on it required a new pack and some tinkering to get it to work; they hadn't been able to find anything compatible among Kenobi's spare parts and they weren't due for another supply trip for a while. They still had the journals, though. But Kenobi, despite the candidness that a private journal implied, hadn't really put a great deal of detail into the journals. It was more like a simple recording of what had gone on during his day and a little in the way of commentary on news he'd heard about the Empire and the rest of the Galaxy. _Trip into Bestine today. Managed to find the parts I needed for the ventilation filter unit. Devoted two hours to meditation this afternoon; mixed success. Three more Separatist systems appear to have been induced to declare their submission the Empire; most of the systems that were a part of the Republic before the Wars have been brought back under Palpatine's control._

Neva, on the other hand, he mentioned frequently.

He had loved her.

He had married her.

It was Luke who had discovered it first. They had essentially been reading the journals simultaneously, alternating between each of them reading entries aloud. But one evening when Athara had been fiddling with the small holoprojector, Luke had settled down next to her to peruse through the pages. There were three journals, the first pretty much starting with Kenobi's arrival on Tatooine with a fair bit of commentary on Palpatine's activities and Galactic news, the second entry being the one Athara had read about Luke being delivered to the Lars. Her suspicion was that, perhaps, the depleted datapad contained earlier journal entries, and that he'd turned to the physical copies with his exile.

They were part way through the second journal in the case when Luke came across the astonishing entry. His bewilderment and shock had surged through the Force when he read the lines. Athara had just finished getting the power back online for the holoprojector after days, weeks nearly, of tinkering, when his reaction jolted her from the chip she'd been inserting.

They had both come to realize, both from Yoda's hintings and Kenobi's notes, that Jedi forsook marriage and romantic attachment upon joining the Order. They weren't strictly sworn to celibacy, but Athara got the impression that they might as well have been. That Obi-wan had married came as a bit of a shock.

"I never knew…I never even suspected," Luke had murmured as Athara had all but wrenched the journal from his loose grasp. The Force began pressing against her with such intensity that it nearly felt like a physical weight on her chest. Kenobi had been the husband that Clara, the old woman from Anchorhead, had been talking about. He was Neva's husband. Before she had even realized what she was doing, her fingers were flipping through to the end. Then, nearly knocking Luke over in her urgency, she grabbed up the third and final journal and began flipping through it as well. The second half of the journal was empty. A prickling feeling of dread began to settle in her stomach. Immediately she began to backtrack, the pages flying with such force that it was surprising none of them ripped or tore.

She paused when she finally found his precise writing again. Something had changed. There was an eagerness, an excitement to the script that had Athara impatiently diving into the words. By now Luke was emerging from his bewildered thoughtfulness, and had begun watching her with curiosity, the growing frown on his face showing that he felt her growing anxiety. Absently, he reached over to retrieve the holoprojector, picking up where she'd left off.

Athara barely comprehended what she was reading, her eyes skimmed the words so quickly. But then she latched onto something, the sentence jumping out at her in a way that left her feeling like she'd been stung.

_The baby moved this morning._

Athara nearly choked as she read it again, and then a third time. Across from her, Luke's frown deepened, his gaze shooting to her at the conflicting emotions suddenly surging through her.

"Athara? What is it?"

"They had a baby…" her voice was little more than a dazed gasp. The dread in her belly was growing, pressing against her ribs, making it hard to breathe. She was almost immediately flipping to the last entries, fighting the feeling that something had gone horribly wrong. Weeks earlier, what felt like a lifetime ago, Clara had hinted that something had happened, but Athara had thought little of it at the time. An iron grip clenched around her heart when she found the last entries. There was a datachip nestled between the pages, something Athara took out and handed absently to Luke. Without hesitation, he popped out the chip already in the holoprojector and put in the new one, retrieving the single entry on the chip.

"They are coming home tomorrow, and I find I can barely contain my excitement," Athara began reading the entry aloud, her voice wavering and hesitant. Part of her feared what was coming next. "The transport will be arriving in the afternoon, but I will leave first thing in the morning. I cannot stop looking at the holo Neva sent me, wondering what it will be like to hold our little girl for the first time. I shall turn in soon, though I don't think I will be able to sleep at all."

"Where did they go, I wonder? And why," Luke mused softly, his eyes dropping back to the holoprojector in his hand. After a moment he tensed, his brow furrowing in confusion as he read the message on the chip Athara had handed him. He paled, his lips parting with shock as he retrieved the image that accompanied the message.

"Athara, you need to see this," he murmured, straightening from where he was lounging beside her.

But Athara didn't notice his reaction or that he was trying to get her attention, her hand shaking as she turned the page to get to the final entry. It was made up of only two words. Athara blanched as she read them, all the blood leaving her face. Bile and sorrow rose in her throat as she realized what the shaking script and near-empty page meant. Luke's attention was once again on her, the holoprojector momentarily forgotten as his hand came to rest on her shoulder, alarmed at her reaction.

"Athara? What is it? What's the next entry?"

"They're gone. That's it. Only _They're gone_." Athara was barely able to speak, breathing becoming even more difficult as a massive truth began bearing down on her, the sense of foreboding she was beginning to despise pressing against her thoughts. She could see, in her mind's eye; Kenobi, younger than he'd been on the Death Star, sitting hunched over the journal, his hand frozen over the page as his fingers trembled, struggling to find words to describe what had happened, only to come up with the simplest entry that managed to say so much more. She could almost feel the heartbroken agony that had consumed him as he stared down at the blank page, the shaking characters were imprinting with harsh finality beneath his hand. She felt on the verge of crying, though not a single tear had risen to her eyes. Luke's eyes dropped back to the small holoprojector before he edged it into her line of vision, setting it in her hands on top of the journal.

It was a dark-haired woman holding a small, blanketed bundle, her hazel eyes sparkling as she looked out at Athara. A tiny hand had escaped from the blankets. There was something immensely familiar about the woman; Athara felt almost as though she was looking in a mirror. Something deep down in Athara began rebelling violently away from the revelation crashing around her. Then her eyes dropped to the message below the image.

The journal and the holoprojector dropped from her hands as though they had burned her. "No...it's impossible," she choked.

In an instant she was on her feet, stumbling out of the hut into the cooling evening air, gasping as she tried to suck air into her lungs. The weight of understanding pressing on her chest had intensified so much that she couldn't breathe in the confines of the hut. A stabbing pain went through her, her bewilderment and betrayal manifesting itself in a physical ache that seeped through every muscle in her body.

Like the first evening she had spent at Kenobi's hovel with Luke, the sky was stained with vivid pinks and reds that accompanied the setting suns. A gentle breeze wafted over the sand, stirring up glimmering wisps of the fine grit and sending loose strands of her honey-brown hair dancing around her face. She didn't notice any of it though.

She was too busy fighting the anger and betrayal rising through the bewilderment and pain in her chest. At her sides her fists were clenched so tightly that her nails were cutting into her palms, a hot dampness trickling across her fingers as they drew blood. She could feel the Dark Side beginning to swirl hungrily around her as she began losing control, stirring the sand around her, picking up the fine grains until small eddies of sand were whirling around her, plucking and tugging at her clothes and stinging her skin.

Everything in her was rebelling at what this revelation meant. It felt like her entire world had been shattered, slicing and tearing through her as the shards fell around her.

A screaming sob tore out of her as her legs gave way beneath her and she landed heavily on her knees in the midst of the swirling sand, pressing the heels of her hands against her burning eyes as though the pressure could halt the yellow overwhelming the gray-blue and erase the truth she had learned.

And then there were arms around her, pulling her into a warm embrace that chased away the chill that had begun creeping through her veins. As Luke held her close, she could feel her anger and pain begin to subside, his soothing murmur helping her to push the Darkness threatening to consume her away. Distantly, she could feel Qui-gon's presence at their side, supplying what comfort he could with his presence.

Soon it was only grief left in her, and before she could stop herself, she was curling against her Farmboy, sobbing into his shoulder as her fingers loosened from painful fists to clutch at his shirt. Eventually her sobs quieted and her hitching breaths evened out as she managed to calm herself, drawing from the peace that had grown in Luke as he'd grown stronger in the Force.

"You see the irony, I suppose," she finally said, her voice little more than a whisper. She could almost feel him frowning a little. "My Master is your father, and now it would seem that your Master was mine," she said, a soft, sad bitterness colouring her tone. Luke's frown deepened at the resentment threading her words. He drew back, looking down at her where she still leaned heavily against him, still speaking quietly. "Not only that, but you also believed that Vader killed your father, and now I learn that he killed mine right in front of me. More than that, he probably murdered my mother too, and stole me away." She was beginning to ramble, and coming precariously close to tears again.

"Athara," he broke in gently, his fingers absently stroking her hair as he pulled her out of her spiralling thoughts. She sighed heavily. More pieces in the mystery of her life had clicked into place. She had longed to know more for so long, but right now, in this moment, all she could think of was that she wished she could unlearn it all.  


	25. Chapter 24

So much of her life had been lived in space that hurtling through hyperspace was comforting in its feeling of normalcy. Athara was still fighting to come to terms with her realization that she was the daughter of Obi-wan Kenobi and Neva Adyé, so any hint of normalcy was an immense relief.

It all felt like a dream, really. She faintly recalled asking first the Jengals and then Vader about her parents when she was a child. The Jengals had truthfully known nothing, while Vader…she had never understood his reactions. He had always closed off completely and eventually warned her off the subject as she grew older, refusing to even acknowledge her questions. And below that, hidden almost well enough to escape detection, there had always been a tangled, confusing undercurrent of bitterness, guilt and—what had bewildered her most—fear and even a hint of relief. Once her skills had developed enough to recognize and even notice those emotions she had been reluctantly intrigued despite the way she had forced herself to give up on learning the truth of her own origins.

She understood, now…mostly, at least. He was bitter in his lingering anger at Kenobi and his inability to find his former mentor. The guilt, well, now that was easy to understand. Even as a girl Athara had understood on some deep-seated level why she felt guilt among those swirling emotions. But the fear and relief? They were two such different feelings that she had never understood the way they had been so intricately woven together when they escaped Vader's formidable mental shields. She could only suppose now that they stemmed from fear that she might find out the truth, and relief that she had not. As if that didn't make her bitter about it at all…

She also now understood the look on Kenobi's face in that split-second when his eyes met hers on the Death Star. He had recognized her. The shock that she was alive when he'd spent so many years thinking she was lost with her mother…

She also understood why he'd felt so familiar. He was a part of her, and that part of her, no matter how unconsciously seated, had recognized him too. But if he had recognized her, why hadn't he come to her? He was obviously capable; he'd been visiting and mentoring Luke since his death, especially on Dagobah. So why not appear to her? Why not tell her himself? Why had he left her to find out the truth the way she had? They were questions she still didn't have answers to.

But answers to many of the questions she'd ever had about her past and her origins _were_ hidden somewhere in the old case that she and Luke had found hidden away in Kenobi—her father's—workspace…it still felt strange to think of Kenobi as her father even weeks later. They still hadn't managed to power up the datapad and early on Luke had discovered—with no small amount of disappointment from both of them—that the chips weren't compatible with the other datapads they had in the hovel. But Athara still knew more than she had ever dared dream.

She knew her parents' names.

It seemed such a small thing, but she had long ago resigned herself to believing that she would never know anything about them. More than that, she knew so much about her father already just from the research she had done on Kenobi when she'd first gone on the run. Now she could also understand the careful, even gentle way Qui-gon had spoken to her about his apprentice…and why he'd seemed so amused when he'd said she was rather like Obi-wan had been at her age; impulsive, stubborn, periodically sarcastic, resourceful. And it now made sense to her why Vader had insisted on the Death Star that they leave the search of the _Millennium_ _Falcon_ to the troopers; he had sensed Kenobi then—she knew that already, of course—but he didn't want her to sense him, or to confront him. That's what he had been hiding that day. More than that, he'd been hiding her from him.

Her mother, though, was still essentially a mystery, and Athara's absent curiosity had been fanned into a persistent need to know more. She had gleaned a little about her from Obi-wan's journals and the possessions in the chest, now obviously hers given the way everything in the chest seemed to be related to Obi-wan's wife.

It still wasn't much, though. She had learned that Neva had come to adore Luke and had visited him regularly, eventually becoming close friends with Luke's Aunt as well; close enough that Beru had been at her wedding to Obi-wan. It was probably why Luke had faint memories of her, even though he couldn't yet have been much more than a baby himself. Athara found out that she had been a skilled seamstress and had taken work from shops in Bestine that Kenobi had claimed was far below her level of skill. She was clever, stubborn, gentle and loved to laugh…and had loved Obi-wan dearly, enough to leave everything behind for him.

She also knew what her mother looked like, something she had given up hope of ever finding out. She had found out that she looked like her mother, though she had inherited the shape and colour of her father's eyes and his fairer complexion.

But of what little actual material she had to learn about her mother from, there was one bit of information that Athara kept returning to more than any other tidbit of information.

Naboo.

Between her training with Luke and helping him prepare for Han's rescue, Athara had all but devoured Kenobi's last journal, desperate to know more about Neva and to figure out why her mother had left Tatooine. She learned that her mother had suffered a blaster wound years earlier that had resulted in complications when she was carrying Athara. She had left Tatooine for a planet with better available medical facilities and had travelled to Naboo. No, she had _returned_ to Naboo. That had stood out to Athara in Kenobi's writings, that Neva was returning to that system. It said to Athara that Neva was likely Nabooian by birth, or had at least lived there long enough that Obi-wan felt inclined to use the word ‘returned’ rather than ‘travelled.’

It was a planet she had never been to and now she suspected she knew why. Not that there had ever been much reason for the Dark Lord or his apprentice to venture there. Though, Athara did faintly remember an occasion when the Emperor intended to visit the small planet. Vader had outright refused to go, something that had shocked Athara at the time. It made a certain amount of sense now. At that point she had still very much been Vader’s Shadow; too young yet to go on solo missions of her own but old enough to be at his side. No matter how remote the chance might actually have been, there would have been a risk that Athara's heritage and past would have come to light.

Some of the items in Neva's chest too seemed to point to the conclusion that Athara's mother was Nabooian as well. After some thought Athara had begun to recognize the aesthetic that was distinctive to the planet. Athara herself had always liked things that came from that system, and had even had some Naboo-made artwork in her former Coruscanti residence. And, not that she was an expert in such things by any means, she was fairly sure she could even see hints of the Nabooian aesthetic in the copper-green dress, though it was obviously a little out of date as compared to things that the Chommell sector's Senator Naberrie had worn any time Athara had encountered her.

It was an intriguing and credible enough conclusion that Athara felt herself being drawn to Naboo, something that her feelings encouraged. And as the time for Han's rescue drew closer, the less she could ignore her desire—her need, even—to travel to Naboo herself. She had decided that it would certainly give her something to distract herself while Luke was off saving Han with Leia and Chewie, because she wasn't about to sit back idly while they jaunted off to Jabba's Palace. It was also something Luke supported whole-heartedly.

Her Farmboy's understanding and support as Athara battled through her revelations had been nothing short of incredible. But then of anyone, he was likely in a better position to understand the emotional turmoil the realizations had brought Athara given that he too was still dealing with the emotional upheaval from discovering the truth of his own paternity. They were able to face their pain and disbelief together, supporting each other through it. It brought them closer still. It was getting to the point where Athara could barely imagine her life without Luke in it. He had become such a fixture in her life—her rock, her anchor, her focus, her calm—and she was constantly striving to be the same for him.

So of course, the evening when she'd absently mentioned her desire to go to Naboo, he'd immediately encouraged her, even offering to go with her. He could feel just how drawn she was to the planet, and how the Force was pushing her to make the journey. It had been an offer she was sorely tempted to accept, but her feelings told her that it was a journey she needed to make alone. There was a lingering feeling that she needed to do this, that something important was waiting for her there. It was a feeling that inspired a mix of excitement and anxiety in her. She didn't know what to make of the feeling, and was admittedly afraid to find out, given where her last few Force-driven epiphanies had led her and what the last few instances of foreboding feelings had heralded.

Besides, according to Leia's most recent communication, the Alliance Fleet was gathering near Sullust, with a general call for as many Alliance members to join it as possible. There was to be a critical Council Meeting followed by what sounded like the makings of a major offensive. And Athara was pretty sure she knew why.

If Reem's data bursts were right, there was a second Death Star somewhere, and it sounded like the Alliance might know where it was. What other reason could there be for gathering the Fleet in such force? The gathering was set to take place shortly after Han's planned rescue. It wasn't something Athara intended to miss, no matter the concerned and hesitant looks Luke kept shooting her whenever it came up. She was already sitting out from the rescue of her friend. There was no way she was going to be sitting out of an important confrontation with the Empire. And she could feel that it was going to be a pivotal encounter. Naboo was comparatively close to Sullust, especially when compared to Tatooine, and there was just enough time for her to do some investigating on Naboo before heading to Sullust.

That was why she sat alone, in a shadowed corner of her second public transport vessel on the final leg of her journey to Naboo. The first vessel had departed from Tatooine for Corellia, and from there she had caught a ship on to Naboo. While Luke was completing his final preparations for the mission to save Han, Athara was making a short exploratory visit to Naboo, testing the waters, so to speak, to see if searching for Neva on the Imperial Planet was more than a wild bantha chase. As she sat looking out the nearby viewport as the ship hurtled through hyperspace, she couldn't help but think that the rescue should be under way, Leia and Chewie making their way into Jabba's Palace even as Athara thought about it, while Luke should be about to leave Kenobi's hovel. The memory of her obscure visions hung over her thoughts on the rescue like a shadow, much as they had on Bespin. It was driving her to distraction, especially since she still couldn't remember even a single detail from them, making it hard to dismiss her worry.

Hopefully everything went according to plan…

Saying goodbye to Luke had been far harder than she had anticipated. Normally, she was always the first one awake in the morning, her long ingrained routines following her no matter what planet she was on or whose company she was in. But the morning she had left she had opened her eyes to see her Farmboy already awake, his vibrant blue gaze quietly watching her. His fingers had still been still woven with hers, just as they had been when Athara had drifted off the night before.

"Afraid I was going to leave before you woke up?" she had teased quietly, her voice still a little slurred with sleep. A faint smile had come to his lips but she had seen from the fleeting shadow in his eyes that he had feared just that. And she had truthfully considered it for the briefest of moments; old habits die hard, and all.

"Maybe a little," he'd said lightly but honestly back, his fingers tightening on hers. "But—" he had hesitated then, and something in his voice had Athara propping herself up on her elbow, looking at him with concern.

"What is it?" She'd prompted when he didn't continue. He'd sighed, pulling her over to lie against him. Happily she had obliged, her cheek pillowed on his shoulder as his arm circled round her.

"I don't know," he finally continued, "it's a feeling. Like something is going to happen while you're on Naboo." Athara had tensed in his embrace, causing his fingers to still where they had been absently tracing patterns against her shoulder. It was the same feeling she'd felt growing in the corner of her mind since she had resolved to go to Naboo in the first place.

"You sense it too," she had whispered. He drew back a little, fixing his now worried gaze back on hers. She sighed. "I still need to do this, Luke," she said quietly, sounding a lot more certain than she had felt at the time. Reluctantly he had nodded in agreement.

"I know," he'd murmured, his fingers resuming their tracery, "but that doesn't stop this—this elusive unease I have about you going."

"Qui-gon said something to me once," she'd told him then—just as he'd told her about Ben, she told him about her visits from Qui-gon not long after reuniting on Tatooine—hesitating for a moment to recall exactly how he'd said it, "he said not to get caught up in feelings about the future, to instead keep my concentration on the here and now."

"That focusing on feelings about the future at the expense of the moment was unwise and even dangerous," Luke finished. Athara drew back, surprised. He grinned cheekily. "I think I know where, or rather who, Ben learned that particular saying from." It had drawn a chuckle from Athara, though he'd cut it off when he leaned over, laying a gentle kiss against her lips. "Just, maybe be a little mindful of these feelings? I can't fight the sense that something bad is waiting on Naboo." She carded her fingers through his sandy-blonde hair.

"It might be no more than that I am going to find out something painful. It will be alright," she had assured him, again sounding far more confident that she truly felt. It was obvious that he hadn't quite bought it, but he nodded anyway.

"Just promise you'll be careful," he had pressed again later on when she was getting out of the speeder at the public transport's docking bay. She had leaned back into the cockpit, stealing one last heated kiss before pulling away. His hand tightened on her fingers, though, not letting her pull away too quickly.

"I already promised I would. Of course I'll be careful, Luke.” Apparently satisfied, his grip on her fingers had reluctantly loosened, though it was a moment before Athara was able to let go herself. As much as she hated to admit it, she was incredibly nervous about this trip, and had been wishing he were coming with her. But had she pushed the wish aside. They both had their missions, and she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Forcing herself to let go of his hand, she had turned to head for the ship.

But she hesitated, turning back to look at him where he sat in the speeder, watching her go with an encouraging expression. He'd looked just as he had when she'd left him on Dagobah, his face genuine and open, his eyes bright despite the apprehension in them. Only this time he was bathed in sunlight rather than the gloom of the swamp, and the expression in his eyes had said so much more as he sat in the speeder than standing beside her X-wing.

"I love you, Farmboy. You know that, right?" She had blurted it out, suddenly self-conscious of how blunt she had been. He didn't seem to notice her lack of finesse, though. His vivid blue eyes had only widened at first in surprise—she hadn't declared her feeling so openly before—before a luminous smile broke out over his features. That she loved him had been obvious since she'd left him on Dagobah, and it was no secret that he had returned those feelings just as long, if not longer. But she'd never quite had the nerve to say it aloud, afraid of what actually saying it would mean. She could tell he'd been on the verge several times, but had always held back, always careful not to push her knowing full well that she wasn't ready. She still wasn't entirely sure she was ready but, in that moment, she needed him to hear what she felt.

"And I love you, Athara." His words stuck with her, feeding the warm, fluttering feeling in her chest even as she sat wrapped in her cloak in the cool confines of the common room on the passenger transport. But it still wasn't quite enough to banish the feeling of anxiety she and Luke had both felt. She couldn't help but be reminded of the feeling Obi-wan had written of in his journal, when her mother had been about to take this same trip…a trip she hadn't returned from. It didn't help her apprehension. It was then that she felt a familiar presence near her.

 _Kenobi was the one who asked you to watch over me, wasn't he?_ She projected the thought out through the Force toward Qui-gon, knowing he'd hear her. She could have sworn she heard him sigh.

 _Yes_. _He asked me to watch over you and your mother while you were apart from him._

_Why didn't you tell me?_

_It was for your protection, Athara. Vader cares for you and protected you, but for how long do you think you would have been safe had you known Obi-wan Kenobi was your father?_ She grudgingly had to agree with him, though she wasn't happy about it. _We both know you would have searched for him, wanting to learn more about him, wanting to know why you were under Vader's protection and not your father's. More than that, you would have stopped trusting Vader had you learned the truth; you still needed him, you still needed to be able to trust in him. You would not have been able to, had you learned the truth while still under his care. Then the Emperor would have invariably discovered the truth as well. Even Vader wouldn't have been able to protect you from the Emperor had he known just who your parents were._ She knew he was right. But something still didn't sit right with her.

 _Why didn't you tell him?_ She knew he knew what she meant.

 _Neva meant everything to him. She helped him stay sane after the fall of the Jedi Order, after Anakin turned. She helped him from falling to the Dark Side himself out of despair and guilt. She helped him heal. I had never seen him so happy than when he learned of your existence, Athara. Had he known you were still alive, but under Vader's control?_ Athara let out a pained sigh. She knew what he was getting at.

 _He would have come after me, and after Vader._ Had she been able to see him, she imagined the older Jedi would have been nodding sympathetically. She could feel she was right though.

 _And put Luke in danger, put you in danger. With your identity a secret and with Vader's protection you were safe as you could be, and so was Luke._ That didn't stop it from hurting, though. She could feel Qui-gon reaching out to her through the Force, brushing against her consciousness with the mental equivalent of a comforting hand on her shoulder.

 _He killed my mother, didn't he._ It wasn't a question. Again, she could have sworn he sighed. She could feel the grief in him. She could feel that he had liked her mother.

 _Yes, Vader killed Neva—_ Athara was suddenly on the verge of crying, forcing back the tears that had sprung to her eyes and the sense of betrayal tightening around her heart— _but Anakin spared you._ She froze, her very breath halted in her chest. _You asked me once if there was still good in him. I said that there was._

_I know this because he spared you._


	26. Chapter 25

As she inched down the hallway of the Imperial Garrison's primary operations level, she mentally chided herself for what seemed like the thousandth time for not paying closer attention to her bad feelings. Going to Naboo was supposed to be about finding out more about her mother.

Instead she was risking everything to spy on the Imperials trying to catch her.

She had barely stepped off the transport ship when she realized that perhaps coming to Naboo was a mistake. There were Imperials everywhere, and as she made her way into the capital city of Theed, she was certain she overheard a couple of troopers absently discussing why there could possibly be an arrest warrant, or a bounty for that matter, out on the Shadow Woman…meaning her. A handful of troopers in the ranks of one of Vader's legions had taken to calling her that instead of Obscura many years ago, and it had evidently spread. That they were talking about her like that meant that they were on the lookout for her. And the fact that they had been marvelling over how young she looked meant they knew what she looked like without her trademark cowl.

It had taken some clever Force tricks and a whole lot of luck to get past the troopers stationed around the Theed spaceport and into the city proper. She knew she probably should have just turned around and gotten on a ship leaving the little green planet.

But she had been entranced before the transport ship even broached Naboo's atmosphere. It gleamed like a vibrant green jewel amid the glimmering darkness of space. It was a beautiful planet, both up close and from afar, and not even the presence of Imperial troops could diminish that. The spaceport sat below the capital city, so Athara's first glimpse of Theed was looking up to the Palace and the waterfalls that limned the cliffs upon which the city peered down from. The city itself was all gold and green, the warm-hued stone welcoming and homey, while still lending the capital a cultured and stately air. And there was water, wide avenues and green space everywhere she looked.

She knew then that she was being foolish, but she could not help herself. Still, she was cautious in her foolishness. She headed immediately for the outskirts on the opposite side of the city from the Imperial Garrison while staying relatively close to the spaceport. It wasn't like she hadn't evaded Imperials or imminent capture before.

It was there that she managed to find a small golden-stoned guesthouse where she took out a room. It was a little building surrounded by lovely flower-filled gardens. It was run by an older woman, Dema, who, after taking Athara's measure with keen eyes, had welcomed Athara with friendly, though deceptively innocent questions. Athara liked her immediately. She had reminded her of Renate; a gentle heart but with a steel in her spine and a sharp mind that missed little. More than that, there was something familiar about her that was reassuring beyond her similarities to Renate. It had concerned Athara a little the way the older woman seemed, almost imperceptibly, lost. Every now and then a look of confusion and forgetfulness followed by recollection would pass over her face as Athara spoke to her, but the Force did not warn her away from the older woman. If anything, it had seemed like it was assuring her that this woman could be trusted. And the former Sith apprentice had learned to trust in the Force.

She was the one who pointed Athara to the best places in Theed to access public records and the best ways to go about finding, or finding out about, someone. It was advice that Athara was immensely grateful for, even if she wasn't sure how she was going to access some of those places without being discovered.

Unfortunately, discovering Dema's little house and finding help in the older woman proved to be the extent of her good luck. As she made her way through the city the next morning to the public records building Dema recommended she try first, someone saw her. More accurately, someone recognized her. She had no idea who, possibly some passerby who had recognized her face from the Holonet—she couldn't quite walk around a city like Theed with her deep-cowled cloak; that would draw more attention that showing her face—and had alerted the Imperials. Next thing she knew there was a shout of 'hey, you there,' and she was running from a patrol of Stormtroopers. It had taken a little effort to lose them, especially as they knew the city and she didn't, but she had finally managed to slip away.

But it meant the city was soon on total lockdown, with troopers swarming from the Garrison to sweep the city. She'd barely made it back to the outskirts without being spotted again. More than that, as she'd been sneaking back toward the spaceport, she'd overheard that the spaceport itself was all but shut down. It was very unlikely that she was going to be able to easily leave the planet. She wasn't keen on the idea of stealing a ship and fighting her way out, but it had quickly become her best option.

She had been musing over the best way to get down from the city to the spaceport when a set of small but surprisingly strong hands had pulled her into the shaded alcove of a nearby building. Spinning to fight her way free from her captor she had been bewildered to find herself staring into the dark eyes of her accommodation's proprietor.

"Dema," she hissed, "what—" but the woman had clapped a hand over Athara's mouth, peering sedately around beyond the alcove to see if there was anyone around.

When she was satisfied they were alone for the time being, something Athara had already known given that she'd reached out through the Force to sweep the area around her, the older woman withdrew back into the alcove, tucking a few stray strands of her dark hair back into place. But Athara hadn't felt anyone approaching…not even Dema. Her eyes widening involuntarily, she stared at the older woman, reaching out to brush against her thoughts. She couldn't reach them. Athara was certain the woman wasn't Force-sensitive, but she'd had significant training in how to shield her mind from Force-users, and evidently was able to sneak up on one. Dema noticed her bewilderment and gave her a quick half-smile.

"I have been around enough Jedi in my life to recognize a Force-user when I see one," she murmured, dropping her hand cautiously from Athara's mouth. Athara could only stare at her in shock. Dema acted like she didn't notice, peering out to scan their surroundings again. The bright sunlight streaming through the street and the courtyard beyond glinted on the silvering strands of Dema's hair. Athara had pressed farther back into the shadows, her hand absently dropping to where she had hidden her lightsaber in a deep interior pocket of her jacket. The feel of the weapon within easy reach was unconsciously reassuring. They had been well hidden for the moment, but Athara hadn't been keen on staying put for long.

"It was reckless coming here, Obscura," the older woman had continued, still ignoring the way Athara gaped at her. The former Sith bristled.

"My name is not Obscura," she had snapped, barely remembering to keep her voice low. Dema only shot her a mild look that bordered on amusement.

"Tell that to the Imperials that have been waiting here for you." Athara froze. Waiting for her? Athara's eyes slid shut as she groaned with aggravation at herself. She had walked right into a trap.

"His foresight…Palpatine knew I would come here," she breathed, her resentment seeping into her voice, "I am such an idiot." This whole trip had turned into a disaster. Dema's face held only sympathy. Athara's mind was already whirring, though. Her eyes turned to meet Dema's. "Why are you doing this?" Dema smiled sadly, an expression of loss that Athara recognized easily.

"I am no friend to the Empire," she said softly, though there was a hardness and a strength to her voice that brought a faint frown of consideration to Athara's face. There was more to Dema than met the eye. But then the faint lost expression passed over the older woman's features and the power in her expression dimmed. "You need to get off Naboo."

"I can do that without too much difficulty," Athara assured her quietly. Dema had shot her another faintly exasperated look. Athara had merely raised her eyebrows at her, practically daring the woman to doubt her abilities. Then another thought hit her.

"You said they were waiting for me."

"Yes. Imperial troops have been descending on Naboo for weeks and holos of you are everywhere," Dema's soft voice had paused then as the sound of a small patrol came up on the courtyard just beyond their alcove. Both women fell silent until they passed. "I imagine just about every Imperial in the city is on the hunt for you right now."

"Then the Garrison will be just about deserted," Athara said, deep in thought. Dema frowned for a moment before a look appeared on her face that said precisely just how foolish she thought Athara was.

"That is a terrible idea."

"No it isn't," the former Sith apprentice waved off absently, "Imperial Garrisons are all the same—seen one, you've seen them all—I can get some intel, find out what they were ordered to do with me, maybe steal a ship. It's a better idea than trying to sneak into a spaceport that’s crawling with Stormtroopers. Plus, honestly, who would expect me to break into an Imperial Garrison?" She had glanced over at the older woman then. Her expression hadn't changed, save that her eyes had narrowed with resolve.

And that was how Athara came to be sneaking through the deserted corridors of the Garrison with a woman old enough to be her mother shadowing her every move. It was exasperating, thinking that this woman didn't seem to trust Athara's abilities enough to let her be. No, she had to risk her own neck to keep an eye on the former Sith apprentice. Athara had tried to warn her off, but Dema had abjectly ignored every warning the former Sith could put to her.

To be fair, she was not slowing Athara down. It was enough to make her wonder just how closely the older woman had worked with Jedi in days long past, and just who she was. She seemed to know just how best to work with Athara and her abilities. She followed close, didn't look on in bewilderment or impatience when Athara paused to take stock of their surroundings with the Force, and was attentive to every move and instruction Athara made or gave.

The only real objection Dema made was when Athara led them to the auxiliary command station and immediately logged in and began bypassing the security to get at the Imperial dispatches.

"Wouldn't it be better if you were to keep watch? Your senses are much keener," Dema said rather diplomatically from where she stood near the entranceway. Athara didn't even look up from the viewscreen.

"Who here was the Imperial agent? I know what I'm looking for and I know how and where to find it," Athara responded, her voice just as low as Dema's, "besides, I just found it." Dema didn't say anything in response, prudently allowing Athara quiet to skim over the most recent communications. One section in particular stood out to her, most likely because it was in reference to her. It was older correspondence, a couple weeks old, even. Dema hadn't been exaggerating; they really had been anticipating her arrival on Naboo for a while now.

_{Intelligence procured by his Imperial Highness Emperor Palpatine indicates that the fugitive Dark Lady Obscura is either currently in the Chommell Sector, on the Planet of Naboo, or imminently expected to arrive.. Elevated levels of alacrity and vigilance recommended.. Use extreme caution when confronting and apprehending Target.. Target extremely dangerous and anticipated to put up lethal resistance.. Target is not to be underestimated.. Once captured, Target is to be transferred directly to the Imperial Palace on Coruscant..}_

_{{Request for additional Troops to assist in search and surveillance..}}_

_{Reinforcements dispatched.. Target no longer to be transferred to Coruscant.. Send report when sighting is confirmed.. New transfer instructions to follow upon confirmation of Target's presence on Naboo..}_

Athara frowned as she read that. There was little doubt that the Emperor was going to want her brought directly to him. But the order to not bring her to Coruscant was troubling. Was he not on the Capital at the moment? If he wasn't, that was news indeed; it had been years since Palpatine had left the City-planet. She skipped ahead a bit to the day before, when she had first been sighted. She could feel all the blood leaving her face as she read the most recent dispatches.

_{{Lady Obscura sighted in Theed.. Anticipating location and capture of target imminently.. Requesting further instructions..}}_

_{By order of the Emperor, once apprehended, Lady Obscura is to be brought before his Imperial Highness_ _aboard the Death Star II.. She is to be alive and as undamaged as possible.. REMINDER: Use extreme caution when confronting and apprehending Target.. REMINDER: Target extremely dangerous and anticipated to put up lethal resistance.. DO NOT underestimate Target.. Coordinates to follow upon confirmed capture.. }_

He was on the Death Star. The Emperor was on the Death Star II.

If her suspicions were correct, the Alliance Fleet knew the location of the second Death Star, and was on the verge of planning an attack on the Empire's newest Battlestation. That the Emperor was to be on board…well, it wouldn't change anything, but might lend an added urgency and determination to the attack. Of course, there was a fair chance the Alliance already knew the Emperor was on board thanks to the Bothans' spy networks, hence the timing for the possible offensive. Still, it was the kind of intel that Athara couldn't imagine keeping to herself. She couldn't risk the chance that they didn't know yet. She had to get it to the Alliance. She quickly pulled a datachip she kept for just such occasions from one of the pouches on her belt, plugged it into the console and initiated a download of the transmissions.

Besides…it would also serve as added proof that the Imperials were hunting her, something a collection of members in the Alliance—like Leia—still didn't entirely believe, according to Lando.

Mulling over this newest turn of events, Athara turned to locating anything else of possible use. She was after anything the Alliance could use. She did come across a list of old—and thus likely forgotten, in her experience—active clearance codes and was in the process of copying them to the datachip when Dema made a small noise, ducking back into the room. Immediately Athara was on high alert, her senses stretching out to pinpoint exactly where the approaching officers were. In an instant the datachip was tucked away and Athara was at Dema's side, peering out into the hallway.

Two officers, talking quietly between themselves, had just turned the corner, obviously making their way to the room Athara and Dema were in. Thinking quickly, Athara reached out with the Force again, searching for something, anything, to distract them so Athara and Dema could make their escape. She found their ticket in the form of a series of pipes just around the corner from where the two Imperials had just appeared. With a sharp yank through the Force, Athara pulled one of them from the wall. A metallic shriek echoed through the hall as one of the pipes tore away from its brethren, sending pressurized gouts of water spraying into the corridor. With a yell, the two officers were turning and dashing back the way they'd come to see what was going on.

Athara and Dema took their chance.

Without even a hushed word, they both slipped quickly out of the command station and began making their careful way back out of the Garrison. Athara wished she had gotten more but it was getting too risky to keep poking around for intelligence, and her feelings were urging her to move on. She couldn't help but feel that they'd been too lucky, though, and absently mused that their good fortune was likely on the verge of running out. The bad feeling she and Luke had both experienced before she had left Tatooine had reemerged in the pit of her stomach.

If it hadn't been for the caution that had been intensifying since she and Dema vacated the command station, Athara might not have noticed the troopers making their way back to the Garrison when she had, and she certainly wouldn't have registered the surprise of one of them through the Force when he caught a glimpse of her, catching sight of her reflection in one of the chromed walls that most Imperial compounds seemed to possess.

At first he was only suspicious, something Athara picked up on. In that instant, she made a split-second decision. It gave her enough time to unceremoniously shove Dema back down the hall they had come from, pulling the older woman into a supply closet they had passed only a moment before.

Easing the door shut behind her, she yanked the datachip from its pouch and pressed it into Dema's hands. Athara almost didn't realize she had reached for her lightsaber until it was firmly in her hand. Dema's eyes dropped to the weapon, her memory-fogged eyes glancing over the faintly gleaming hilt. Athara grabbed Dema's shoulder, squeezing gently to ensure the older woman was paying attention to what she was saying.

"You say you are no friend of the Empire? Prove it now; I need you to get this to the Alliance. Contact Bek Reem on Corellia; you should be able to find him through Geeno Madal of Madal Shipyards. Transmit the information on here to him. Tell him it's from me and he needs to get it to Alliance High Command as soon as possible; if he can't get it directly to them, at least get it to Commander Adyé or General Madine." She knew those two would take what she sent them seriously. Dema stared at Athara in shocked silence as a flash of understanding surfaced in her eyes, though there was no trace of surprise on her face. She saw in an instant what Athara was planning. But before she could protest, Athara had a hand over her mouth.

"You need to do this. They know I'm here; I'm not getting out of here except with them; I can feel it. You say you knew Jedi? You understand what I mean." Dema's eyes clouded with the now familiar bewilderment Athara had seen before, though there was now a pain that cut through it like a blade. She nodded slowly, her expression grave as she toyed anxiously with the pendant on her necklace.

Then Athara outlined the best way for Dema to quickly get out of the Garrison without being spotted, while Athara distracted the rest of the Base. As she turned, about to leave, Dema reached over, laying a gentle hand on Athara's shoulder.

"You came here looking for answers for yourself, didn't you," she said quietly. Athara couldn't help but shoot her a 'you're really doing this now?' look that the older woman again ignored. But she continued without pausing, "If you are who I think you are, come find me when this is all over…you look like her, you know." Athara gaped. This woman had the uncanny ability to keep surprising her.

"Who?" Athara already knew.

"Your mother, Neva." Dema watched her with her knowing dark eyes, her expression more focused and aware than Athara had yet seen; the lost sensation Athara had felt in her before was diminishing. "Now go!" Physically turning the former Sith apprentice, the older woman urged her back toward the door, the tightness around her eyes and mouth the only indication she hated this idea of Athara's. Shaking her confusion and sudden, crushing curiosity away, Athara turned her thoughts ahead to what she needed to do.

She needed to distract the troopers long enough that Dema could sneak out of the Garrison by way of the often-ignored back quarter. Slipping out of the door, she edged along the way she and Dema had been headed before Athara had been spotted.

She got farther through the Garrison toward the landing platform than she anticipated, but not quite as far as she hoped when she was spotted again…not that she was trying terribly hard to avoid being seen.

Evidently one of them panicked, because they had barely caught sight of her before one of them opened fire, and not with the intention of stunning her. In an instant her lightsaber was lit and cutting vibrant blue arcs through the air as the blasterfire ricocheted off her blade without ever coming close to reaching her.

It felt good. She hadn't really _used_ her lightsaber in what felt like forever. Sparring with Luke and running through her exercises were all well and good, but this was different. The blade felt alive in her hand, an extension of her own limbs as it dipped, slashed and whirled around her. It felt like dancing. As she relaxed, letting the Force flow through her, she felt calm, collected…powerful and capable. There was not trace of anger within herself and in that moment she felt as though she was truly free of the Dark Side. Troopers ahead of her scattered, some falling as she easily deflected their deadly red bolts back at them.

But more kept coming. It seemed the troopers who had engaged her had called for reinforcements. Athara could feel great waves of Imperials rushing back toward the Garrison. Soon she was going to be overwhelmed with little choice but to capitulate if she wanted to survive to leave Naboo. She only hoped Dema had gotten away from the Garrison without any problems.

It seemed she was going to see the Emperor...

If by some miracle she survived this, Luke was going to kill her...


	27. Chapter 26

Looking out of the Imperial shuttle at the Death Star II was absolutely nothing like looking out at Naboo. Where Naboo had filled Athara with a sense of anticipation and wonder at the beauty of the small planet, the Death Star only inspired a sense of anxiety and revulsion. Its skeletal form loomed ahead of them, menacing in its sheer staggering size and for the unmistakable presence Athara could feel waiting aboard.

The Emperor was most certainly waiting for her. She could feel his presence as they drew closer, the Darkness roiling within him enough to turn her stomach. She understood now that, even when she had been a servant of the Dark Side, she had never truly embraced it, not in the way her Master and his Master had. It was starkly evident to her in a way it hadn't been before as she was brought ever closer to the Emperor. Every cell in her body felt like it was recoiling away from him, from the unfathomable evil that waited for her. It was like a noxious cloud that engulfed the unfinished Battlestation. She could feel it fogging her senses as the shuttle drew into the landing bay. It clouded her thoughts and left her feeling muddled.

As she was led off the shuttle she was barely paying attention to where they were taking her, she was fighting so hard to shake off the effects of the Emperor's presence. Normally she would have drawn on things like memory of Luke's smile when he saw her, or perhaps his kisses or the way he'd told her he loved her. Or perhaps the memory of her time with the Jengals, or her friends' faces, childhood memories of her Master's true nature, Qui-gon's praise and pride when she began to pull herself from the quicksand that was the Dark Side, or the knowledge that despite everything, her Master cared enough to risk everything to protect her.

Yet even in her muddled and confused state, she was aware enough to recognize the creeping tendrils of the Emperor's thoughts trying to sift through her own. Long before they had reached the location of the second Death Star, she had tamped down and hidden anything and everything she could anticipate or imagine that the Emperor might possibly try to use against her, Vader or Luke. As jumbled and disarrayed as her thoughts were, she knew better than to retrieve the memories and thoughts that usually served as her anchor from where she had locked them away. Somehow the knowledge that she could keep what he sought to use against her from him provided just the strength and clarity she needed. A faint grin came involuntarily to her face when she felt the intruding consciousness reacting with frustration as, despite the way he was meddling with her thoughts, she retained control over her own mind, and kept her thoughts shielded from him.

"Impressive." A voice, smooth and sibilant, yet virulent and threatening in its soft reserve, glided through the fog of the Dark Side, startling Athara out of the bounds of her mind. Her mind was her own again as the veil the Dark Side had cast over her senses fell away.

She was standing alone in the centre of the Emperor's throne room aboard the Death Star, looking up at the dais where Palpatine himself sat. In all the years she had known him, the Emperor had not really changed. His skin was still deeply creased and scarred, paper thin and nearly translucent, while burning yellow eyes gazed out from the deep folds of pale skin amid a deeply hooded black cloak. For all his power and pride, he did not display any of it on his person, sitting quietly without ornament on either his garments or about his throne. It was the same in the Imperial Palace, to an extent. The Palace Complex itself was huge and richly ornamented, but similar to the scene before her, the Emperor's throne room was nearly bare in its stark decoration. It left the Emperor himself as the sole focus, and somehow it seemed to magnify his power and mystery. Likewise, his throne room here was even a step beyond bare, with the dim lighting and exposed superstructure of the tower itself creating the illusion that Athara stood amid the looming skeleton of some great beast.

She stood between two giant viewports at the bottom of the stairway that led up to Palpatine's throne. Behind her, over a short gantry that appeared to look straight down to the core of the Battlestation from what was sure to be an almost unfathomable height, was the turbolift that had brought Athara into Palpatine's presence. Her wrists were beginning to ache a little from the binders the Stormtroopers on Naboo had placed about them, but Athara pointedly ignored it. He wanted her uncomfortable. It was part of his strategy, his game. She had no intention of playing by his rules. Out the viewport behind Palpatine, Athara could see the surface of the moon over which the Death Star resided during its construction. She didn't even know what system they were in.

Up on his dais the Emperor was looking down on her with an expression she imagined was supposed to look pleasant but only managed to send a chill up her spine. He sat back in his throne, his fingers lightly tented before him as he watched her with consideration. She noticed with an uneasy shudder that her lightsaber was laying next to his left elbow, gleaming in the low light as though to taunt her.

"You are indeed more powerful than I had predicted. It is impressive that you and my apprentice kept it hidden from me for so long." Athara couldn't help the way her jaw clenched as he spoke. She could feel his ire at his apprentice but also his curiosity at her. She hadn't known what to expect upon coming face to face with Palpatine for the first time since her true strength was revealed.

"Is your flattery intended to accomplish something, Your Highness?" She said, not bothering to hide the impatience or the sarcasm from her voice. It only took a moment to prod the catch of her binders with the Force, letting them drop with a pointed clank on the polished durasteel floor. His smile didn't dim, though a flash of anger appeared in his eyes for the briefest of moments.

"You knew to find me on Naboo, and yet I didn't even know any connection to it existed in my past at all," she continued, but her baiting tone was met only with a sly, pleased smile.

"No. But it did take you far longer to journey there than I expected. In that I am disappointed in you." Athara could feel that he was baiting her himself.

"Take it up with Vader; he's the one who failed to inform me that I was born there." She could have sworn that Palpatine nearly laughed. She fought back the frown that threatened to appear on her face.

"You never questioned how you came to be in my apprentice's care?" She didn't answer him. "Did you think your mother willingly gave you to the Dark Lord of the Sith? For if you did not question that, then you are more foolish than I thought. Surely you were curious as to how you came under Lord Vader's tutelage?"

"Of course I was. I knew in time I would learn the truth, so I let it be," It was a bald faced lie, "I trusted in my Master." That was not.

"A trust you no longer hold," he crooned. Athara's breath caught in her throat. She hadn't meant to say it that way. It was true, but only in part.

"I trust my Master far more than I will ever trust you," she responded scathingly, avoiding answering him outright. He essentially ignored her.

"Tell me, did your faith in him waver when you learned he murdered your mother, putting his lightsaber through her chest? Or when you learned that he spared you merely to spite your father?" He knew, she realized with dread; he knew who her parents were. Athara could feel her fingers beginning to tremble as breathing became difficult. Images of Vader looming over her mother's still body, of Kenobi bent heartbroken in the desert of Tatooine sprang unbidden to her mind. She didn't know if they were real or not, or whether they were creations of her own imagination…or figments planted by the Emperor.

"I take it, then, that you know who my parents were?" She couldn't quite manage to keep her voice from wavering.

"I knew them both personally. Master Obi-wan Kenobi was a great Jedi of the Republic. The Negotiator, he was called. He served me well enough, blind and foolish as the Jedi were. He even saved my life many years ago."

"Well, he may have been a Jedi, but nobody's perfect; everyone makes mistakes," she muttered acerbically under her breath, pointedly ignoring his jibes. He obviously heard her, the corner of his mouth twitching. But he continued as though she had said nothing.

"Neva Adyé was the Princess of Theed when I was elected Supreme Chancellor and was even elected Queen of Naboo before she came to Coruscant with Senator Padmé

Amidala. Your Father saved her life too, foiling an assassination attempt," he said absently, still watching her with an expression of consideration on his face. Athara had to force air into her lungs as she processed what Palpatine was saying. She hadn't known her mother was such a prominent figure on Naboo, nor had she known her mother had been the target of an assassination attempt. She also faintly recognized the name of the Senator he had mentioned. She could feel the tendrils of his thoughts trying to enter her mind. Realizing her mental shields were beginning to slip in her distraction, she clamped down on them again, but not before she caught a hint of something that delighted him.

"Or perhaps your trust in your Master was destroyed when you discovered that he murdered his own wife even as she carried his unborn child." He looked positively gleeful; she most certainly hadn't known that.

"What?" Her shock and disbelief nearly had her doubling over. He nodded, immensely pleased with her reaction. He'd known that she hadn't known that.

"Yes. Killed her even as she begged for mercy, strangling her in cold blood." Another piece of the puzzle that was her Master's past clicked into place with the Emperor's words. His pain, his guilt, his reaction when he had nearly killed her on Hoth; he had already killed his wife and child. On Hoth he had nearly killed her, his apprentice, and closest thing to a daughter he had.

But something didn't add up; Vader killed out of passion and rage and pain. And he always killed for a reason. That he would murder his wife in 'cold blood' as the Emperor put it? She had never heard anyone who actually knew Vader to use that term to describe the way he killed. There had to be more to it than that; she could feel it. That she questioned the tale the Emperor was trying to spin was enough. Suddenly she could feel the falseness woven amid the truth of the Emperor's words. More than that, his child wasn't dead, she reminded herself forcefully. Luke had lived…another realization hit her then.

"You lied to him; his son survived. You manipulated him; you let him believe it for all these years. What else have you hidden from him? Is his wife even dead? Did he really kill her or did you allow him to believe he did?" For a brief moment he looked a little puzzled at her reaction before he plastered the look of false pleasantness on his features again.

"You believe there is still good in him," he observed with a hint of amusement. She sucked in a deep steadying breath.

"I do. I have seen it."

"But you have also undoubtedly seen what else he has done. Things you have done too, under his orders." There was little point in admitting he was right. It was a weight she already knew she was destined to carry for the rest of her life. So she pushed the guilt he was attempting to unbalance her with away.

"Whether you would have me believe it or not, there is still good in my Master. Anakin Skywalker still lives within Lord Vader. Still fights within him."

"Skywalker is all but gone, Obscura. The fatal blow was struck long ago, leaving a wound that festers in him, keeping him tied irrevocably to me."

"All wounds heal with time," Athara said quietly. Again, Palpatine nearly laughed.

"I never anticipated such optimism in you, little Obscura." He was testing her, toying with her. She was amusing to him. Well, she was not amused.

"If you want to kill me, just get on with it," she bit back. She was tired of his games already. His sly smile widened to one of glee as he leaned forward in his throne.

"Not just yet."

The silence that followed stretched on as they both eyed the other, each musing and calculating, trying to discern anything from the other that might be of some use.

Finally the Emperor stood, nearly causing Athara to take an involuntary step back. With a slow, almost hobbling gait he made his way toward her. It was a ploy she had been aware of for years; the pretense of frailty and illness had served him well over the years. She managed to stand firm, her face empty of the revulsion that surged through her as he walked past her—deliberately invading her personal space, as he did—and over the gantry before turning left toward another spoke of the tower they stood in. She knew he meant her to follow him and reluctantly she did so.

He had climbed another stairway to stand before a massive holoprojector. He was little more than a black void amid an incredible projection of their galaxy that had sprung to life as she turned the corner herself. As she ascended the stairs, the projections swirled and expanded, until the Emperor was silhouetted by what looked like the Sullust System.

"I must say, I am most disappointed in you for many reasons, Obscura, despite your impressive abilities," she could feel him preening as she felt her own anger rise at his repeated use of that name. It took a concerted effort to draw back from the emotion. It was like the Emperor's presence was latching on to any hint of the Dark Side that still resided in her, shadowy hooks catching on to her anger, feeding it, making it hard for her to shed it as Qui-gon had taught her. "Your attachment to the Alliance is most puzzling. You are a survivor. That you would ally yourself with those who are destined for extinction is against your character." She bit her tongue, willing herself not to snap back at him. He was still baiting her, and she wasn't about to indulge him again.

As she came to a stop beside him, she realized she had been right about the system as the Emperor further zoomed the projection in on the planet Sullust. She could feel the blood leaving her face as she understood the implication, especially as that damned feeling of foreboding surfaced in the back of her mind. The Emperor sighed quietly, a sound that was faintly pleased. He knew she knew why he was showing her this.

"Your Rebel Fleet means to attack my vulnerable, incomplete Battlestation, plagued as it has been by construction delays. Your Bothan spy networks were certainly eager to discover its secret location, and the critical intelligence that its only defense is a shield generator on the Sanctuary Moon." He was taunting her…and it was working. Horror threatened to overwhelm her at the realization that the Death Star was the bait in a wicked trap.

"It is operational, then," she said quietly, her voice measured in a concerted effort not to betray the fear growing deep in her belly. The Emperor smiled widely, though there was no softness in it, only a cruel pleasure.

"You fed them the information," she said reproachfully. He turned to her, his reptilian eyes boring into hers as she persisted, "did you purposefully delay construction on the rest of the station too?" She knew she was right. Her feelings told her as much, as did the pleased and knowing glint in his eyes as his lips twisted into a harsh grin.

"Your hate is potent, Obscura. It is a pity you do not use it." She froze, desperately fighting the hate that was indeed growing within her. It was then that she saw something flicker across his face, too fast for her to really place precisely the emotion that he was hiding from her.

It hit her then, swift as lightning.

"Fear," she murmured, naming the emotion as the wheels of her mind brought her revelation into focus, "I'm dangerous. You think I'm dangerous." His shrewd smile soured.

"You are little more than a girl. How could you possibly be dangerous to me," he said offhandedly, his hand making a subtle indifferent gesture to add to the illusion his words were meant to render. But she felt it. She was right. And she saw the flicker in his eyes that belied his casual dismissal of her realization. She knew it was foolish to bait him like this, but she pressed on anyway.

"Because I'm pulling away from the Dark Side. Because I have learned how to resist it, even separate myself from its clutches." His soured smile was now a grimace. She smiled amiably back, her eyes glinting with her newfound knowledge, "and you fear that if I can resist it, leave it, how long will it be before Vader follows, before he realizes he can turn back too. How long before he realizes that he can turn away from you?" His lips had pulled back from his teeth in a feral sneer as his eyes narrowed at her.

"Clever girl."

"Then why haven't you killed me yet? There is no way you'll permit me to leave here alive." She said it softly, a hint of genuine curiosity in her voice. She couldn't quite figure it out. Surely killing her made sense; it would eliminate her as a threat, punish and demoralize Vader and show her Master that none could defy the Emperor. But keeping her alive? It was a risky move. Unless…"I'm a test…" she murmured, raising her eyes to the Emperor. He was looking at the projection of the galaxy again, his brow faintly furrowed. Athara continued, feeling faintly sick at her realization.

"I am to be a test of loyalty," she said, her voice steady despite the dread she could feel growing within her. Palpatine turned back to her again. A hint of his pleased smile had returned to his face, though he still looked distracted.

"I have no need to kill you, as my apprentice shall do it for me," he crooned, his hand raising. It was then that she felt what had caused him to frown a moment before.

Vader was approaching the Death Star.

Before Athara even realized what had happened she was flung back against the wall, her body connecting with the dark durasteel with a sickening thud as sizzling bolts of Force lightning surged through her body, every nerve ending on fire as electricity licked across her skin. Her head cracked against the wall, starbursts exploding before her eyes as a metallic taste coated her throat. Then everything went black.

The last thing she felt was the Emperor surging through her mental shields, weakened in her shock and pain.  


	28. Chapter 27

There was no way of knowing how much time had passed since she blacked out. All Athara knew was that it was hard to come back. The Emperor's mind covered hers like a thick, oppressive dark shroud, blocking everything beyond the tiny glimmer of her thoughts that struggled against her forced unconsciousness. And it seemed that the more she struggled, the harder the shroud pressed down on her mind, crushing her back into the blackness of oblivion.

But then she wasn't alone.

At first she thought that, perhaps, it was Qui-gon. He always appeared when she needed his guidance and his support. But it wasn't. It was different, this presence. Somehow calmer, gentler even, than Qui-gon's already soothing aura. There was a similar sensation of great wisdom behind the warmth and quiet of this presence. Without words or even recognizable counsel, it urged her to calm herself, to let go. There was something so comforting and familiar about the presence that she didn't hesitate to trust it and to follow its lead. It made her feel truly safe…it made her feel loved. With the presence's guidance, she let her panicked agitation and despairing fear melt away as water from sun-warmed ice. As her desperation faded so too did the comforting presence.

As did the shroud of the Emperor's thoughts.

True consciousness came flooding back to her then. In an instant she was awake. The fear and panic she had barely escaped threatened to overtake her again. She couldn't move. It was like her mind was disconnected from her body. She was a mind within a lifeless body. No, not lifeless, per se. She was still breathing; her body was still very much alive, but she had no power over it. She couldn't even purposefully blink. Though she had somehow managed to maintain the calm that had freed her mind from the Emperor's oppressive blackout, it was as though his control still extended over her very ability to move.

She hadn't known it was possible to do such a thing.

He had almost complete control over her. She could feel him in her head. It felt precisely like he was blocking her, trapping her, inside her own mind. Thankfully he hadn't been able to truly break through her mental shields. She was still in control of her own private thoughts and memories, but she hadn't been as focused on protecting the rest. It was like he had his fingers pressed inside her skull, blocking the orders she gave her limbs much as a dam stops a stream from flowing. More than that, she could barely touch the Force; he was blocking her from that too. She discovered that when she tried to reach out and discern what was going on around her, only to have her consciousness slapped back.

And now that she was awake, she was horribly, painfully, aware of everything. The floor was cold and hard, driving a deep, splitting ache through her hip and shoulder. The back of her head throbbed where it had been slammed against the durasteel wall and her wrist was twisted awkwardly beneath her body, sending tingling pains up her arm. Her skin itself prickled painfully at the memory of the Force lightning that had sent her slamming into the wall in the first place, a residual ache lingering in her motionless muscles.

More than that she heard everything.

She could hear Luke.

Had her body been her own, she would have been forced to bite back a despondent sob. She understood, now. The Emperor had said he wouldn't need to kill her as his apprentice would. She had automatically assumed he meant her Master.

He'd been referring to Luke.

She had been so blind. Of course he meant Luke. She'd seen that from the beginning. Vader, though powerful, was damaged both in body and spirit in a way that, though easy for the Emperor to manipulate, kept him from realizing the true depths of his potential the way he might have before he was broken. Luke was young, and immensely powerful in his own right even if he wasn't quite so strong as his father. She could see why the Emperor had his eye on her Farmboy.

"By now you must know your father can never be turned from the Dark Side. So it will be with you," Palpatine said around the corner, likely seated again on his throne, a hint of sharpness in his voice. He was still agitated; possibly still from the way she realized she was a threat to him. She wished that she were able to smile. She truly enjoyed that she had been able to make him uneasy. It meant he wasn't as invincible as he would have the Galaxy believe. She could picture the way her Farmboy must be looking at Palpatine. She struggled against the Emperor's hold over her, trying to throw it off as Luke unknowingly distracted him. The thick, oppressive shroud only seemed to tighten around her.

"You're wrong," her Farmboy said softly, the calm confidence in his voice a stark contrast to the Emperor's tone, "soon I'll be dead…and you with me." Athara's thoughts froze just as her body would have. A faint paralyzing fear wound its way around her heart at those words, and that fear grew with the soft sound of Palpatine's laughter.

"Perhaps you refer to the imminent attack of your Rebel Fleet," the Emperor said with mock sympathy, "yes, I assure you we are quite safe from your friends here." She could only imagine Luke's shock at the Emperor's admission. But she didn't hear evidence of it in his voice when he spoke next.

"Your overconfidence is your weakness."

"Your faith in your friends is yours," Palpatine snapped back. Athara bristled at his caustic tone. The shroud shifted, stirred by the anger growing within her. Faintly she could feel how pleased the Emperor was at her ire. She managed to fight it back, but the weight of the Emperor's thoughts imprisoning her had tightened further still with her surge of anger. Desperately, she tried to calm herself; a near painful process given how the imprisoning mantle of Palpatine's seemed to hold onto her anger for her, feeding off it.

Something shifted for an instant, as though the shroud of Palpatine's control was being pulled back for a brief, tantalizing moment. At first she couldn't understand why Palpatine could possibly be doing this, but then she felt her Master's consciousness brush against hers before recoiling quickly in dismay. The brief touch she had with his mind told her that this was more a reminder than a revelation. The Emperor must have revealed that he had her when she'd been unconscious. Palpatine was using her to manipulate Vader, revealing that he had her to show his apprentice there was no use in resisting his will. Then the shroud was back in place, trying to suffocate her spirit the way a blanket of cloth might try to stop her breath. She only struggled harder; she didn't like being a helpless pawn.

"It is pointless to resist, my son," Athara was startled from her struggles at the sound of her Master's voice. He sounded resigned and…mournful. Athara felt on the verge of crying again at the helplessness she detected in her Master's voice. He didn't want this, any of this, but he felt he had no choice, and in many ways he didn't.

She realized in that moment that, despite what she knew had happened at his hands, and the devastating impacts he'd had on her life, her Master had also been everything to her, and in placing herself wholly in his care, she had become everything to him. Abruptly she realized he was the closest thing to a father she'd known, and she realized that for that she loved him. She could see that the Master who'd raised her was trapped within the monster who had stolen her true parents from her, the monster that harkened to the Emperor's beck and call and marvelled in devastation, and that Anakin had been trying in the only way he could manage to try to make it up to her. She could also see now just how strong the hold the Emperor had over him was. Even if he only cared half as much for his son as he cared for Athara—a love that, for some reason, the former Sith apprentice suddenly didn't doubt in the slightest—that the Emperor was able to compel him to act as he was nearly broke her.

A surge of hate directed at the Emperor went through her again. In response, the Emperor's entrapment of her mind only tightened further. What little vision she had through her half-lowered eyelids faded in and out as she struggled against falling back into unconsciousness.

Around the corner from where Athara lay trapped within her own mind, The Emperor was almost gleefully relating how the Alliance had fallen perfectly and predictably into the tangled web of his scheme. But she barely heard it; she had been pulled back under into the Darkness of the Emperor's control.

At first she only began to struggle harder, the instinct to fight her way free overpowering thought at first. But she quickly remembered that in fighting and panicking at the Emperor's hold over her, that hold had only grown stronger. In a flash she realized what it was that the new presence had been showing her. She fuelled the Emperor's hold over her, or rather, the remnants of the Dark Side that clung to her fuelled it. Her fear, her anger, her hate, all of them gave him the power to imprison her like this. She needed to calm her mind. She needed to shed her anger and her fear as Qui-gon had taught her.

Slowly but surely she managed to calm herself, shedding her aggressive feelings as best she could, and slowly but surely the oppressive weight of the Emperor's mental shroud lessened. She desperately tried not to think of what was happening beyond the Death Star. In all likelihood the Alliance Fleet had arrived only to find that they had been drawn into a trap. Harder still was forcing herself not to think on what was happening around the corner near the Emperor's Throne. If she let herself think on what Luke was fighting within himself, or the agony she knew her Master likely felt in his powerlessness, she would be lost. Somehow, she managed to keep her thoughts from the two people she cared for most. Soon she was able to pull herself back to some semblance of consciousness, though the effort had nearly exhausted her.

But as she did, a distressingly familiar sensation was moving up through the cool floor beneath her. It took everything she had left in that moment to will herself not to panic at the sensation of the Battlestation's superlaser powering up, sending vibrations through the entire station from its heart all the way to the tower on the northern pole where Athara lay waiting with sick anticipation.

The shudder that went through the station with each discharge of the superlaser caused Athara's breath to hitch. Memory of the destruction of Alderaan flooded through her, choking her senses with the shadows of the terrible screams and the crushing pain of so much death, all within the confines of her own mind. In the midst of it, she could feel the Emperor's delight, something that caused her stomach to turn almost as much as the memories. She could also feel the anger growing within her Farmboy as he watched, helpless, as the Alliance Fleet was being decimated by the Death Star's functioning primary weapon.

Her eyes shot open as realization crashed through the torturous stream of memory. She could touch the Force again.

The Emperor was almost wholly focused on Luke and the battle before the Death Star that he must not have noticed his hold over her was slipping. Perhaps he hadn't anticipated that she'd realize his control over her was fuelled by her own emotions. More than that, control over her limbs was beginning to come back to her. She was still effectively paralyzed by his control, but she could feel it slowly beginning to fade. She could once more move her fingers, and her lids obeyed her commands again, but beyond that she was still a prisoner, though her lips curled faintly at the realization that, if she remained calm and kept out of the Emperor's notice, his control would soon fade completely.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, which she was relieved to be able to do again, she tried to reach out through the Force. If she could only touch the mind of either Luke or her Master, she might be able to help. The strength of the anger growing in Luke was troubling her greatly, though she tried not to dwell on it. If she did she knew she would grow angry in her fear, and she'd fall back under the Emperor's power. Perhaps if she could reach one of them…

But it was useless just yet. The Emperor's hold over her ability to touch the Force, though waning, was still too strong. She fought back the frustration that tried to bloom in the pit of her stomach. Around the corner the Emperor was talking quietly, goading her Farmboy as the Alliance Fleet was being ripped to shreds before his eyes.

"Good," he was practically purring he was so pleased, "I can feel your anger." Behind Palpatine and Luke, Athara could feel her Master looking on. His mind was engulfed in turmoil. Even as a battle of wills was playing out before him, and a battle of starships beyond them, a more desperate battle still was going on within the Emperor’s apprentice. She could practically feel Anakin struggling to break free from Vader. What was worse, Vader was winning; Anakin was too beset by pain and fear at what was playing out between his son and his own Master. The Emperor seemed all but oblivious, his attention solely on Luke.

"I am defenseless. Take your weapon! Strike me down with all of your hatred, and your journey toward the Dark Side will be complete!" Athara held her breath, silently pleading that Luke could hold out against the anger the Emperor was cultivating within him until she could break herself free.

Then she felt the Force flooding to Luke's call and the all too familiar sound of a lightsaber igniting filled the tower. Athara jerked, reflexively trying spring into action herself. The hissing crackle of two lightsabers locked against each other sent a chill down her spine. She knew what that meant; Vader had drawn his own ruby blade. The air of the tower was suddenly charged. Luke was struggling to rid himself of his negative emotions, while Vader had once again reasserted control over the part of himself that was still Anakin.

Squeezing her eyes shut she focused on clearing her mind completely. Perhaps, if she was able to present the Emperor's control with nothing to grasp onto, she could shake him off entirely.

Before Palpatine's throne, Luke and Vader fought, the sound of their clashing and whirling lightsabers resonating through the tower. She knew from past experience sparring with both of them that Luke had become, if not equal to Vader in his skill with his green blade, at least closely enough matched that his father would not find it an easy fight. Indeed, at the very moment Athara had the thought, a cry came from her Master, awkward and unnatural sounding in its projection through his vocorder. She could faintly hear the sound of a large form tumbling to the floor, artificial limbs creating dull metallic thumps as they connected with the durasteel.

"Good," The Emperor's delighted laughter sent an involuntary shudder through Athara. "Use your aggressive feelings, boy! Let the hate flow through you!" Instinctively, she curled around herself, flinching away from the menace in the Emperor's goading voice, not even realizing at first that, though sluggish, her limbs were all but her own again. It took some effort, but she managed to prop herself up, leaning against the wall as she tried to recover some of her strength. Her limbs still ached from the Force lightning Palpatine had used on her and her head was still throbbing, but she pushed all that aside. She couldn't afford to let her physical pain cripple her.

A flicker through the Force caught her attention again. That Luke had been startled by the Emperor's enthusiastic encouragement went without saying. Athara had felt his shock when he realized he had been doing precisely as Palpatine had been instructing. With a snap-hiss, she heard his lightsaber deactivate. Again, her body twitched in an uncoordinated effort to leap into action, her apprehension at him lowering his green blade blooming out of her own instincts to protect what she loved. She could feel him relaxing, drawing on his training to clear his mind of anger. Following his lead, she did the same, though it was now more in an effort to regain enough strength so that she could help him. She could hardly bear to stay off to the side. Her own feelings of helplessness were proving almost as dangerous as her fear and anger. She needed to join this fight.

"Obi-wan has taught you well," Vader said thoughtfully, "as, it would seem, has my apprentice." Her Master's voice held a measure of satisfaction and pride that Athara hadn't quite expected. A pleased flicker of her own satisfaction alighted in Athara as he spoke, but it wasn't enough to erase the nervous anxiety growing in her belly. A flash of something went through Luke as her Master spoke as well. Had Athara not known him as well as she did, she might not have been able to place it. It was worry. He had been trying not to think of her, likely for the same reasons she had been doing the same. Neither of them wanted to give the Emperor additional ammunition against them.

But Vader did know about their feelings for each other. She was sure of that. He'd easily discerned her feelings for his son on Bespin. Yet the Emperor didn't seem to know of her love for Luke, nor his for her. He would have tried to use it against her if he had. Of that, Athara was certain.

Luke brushed his worry aside so quickly no one but Athara seemed to pick up on it. She couldn't help the faint sigh of relief that went through her as she realized that.

"I will not fight you, Father." The Dark Side swirled around Vader and the Emperor, a cord of energy stretching between them; Athara could feel the Emperor urging Vader onward, and the Dark Lord complied with only a split-second of hesitation. She could hear her Master ascending the stairs he had been pushed down only moments before.

"You are unwise to lower your defenses!" As he spoke Athara could practically feel him coiling for an attack a heartbeat before he slashed his ruby blade forward. Thankfully, Luke seemed to anticipate it too, his own lightsaber activating to meet Vader’s with a crash a split-second before Athara supposed Vader's blade would've found its mark. Athara had had enough.

With one hand braced against the gleaming durasteel wall behind her, she managed to clamber to her feet. The Emperor's grasp over her was all but gone and he had yet to realize she had worked her way free. Her strength was beginning to return far more quickly now. Now it was Athara who was shielding her presence from the others, not Palpatine. She had no desire for the Emperor to realize his mistake; she anticipated that he likely could still reassert his control over her if he so desired as she could still feel the remnants of his presence in her mind. Neither did she want Vader or Luke to sense her just yet. Vader knew she was somewhere on the station, but didn't seem to know she was so near. Considering how strong the Emperor's control over him was at the moment, she couldn't be sure what he would do if he were to realize she was in the tower. And Luke she didn't want to distract. One wrong move and Vader could kill him. That was something she could not bear to have happen.

A few moments of furious fighting culminated when Luke drew on the Force to propel himself up onto the catwalk above Vader. Athara couldn't help but applaud that; Force-enhanced jumps had always come naturally to him, something that Athara had always envied. Though she was no longer relying quite so heavily on the wall for support, Athara continued to press herself against it, inching forward until she could peer over to where Luke, Vader and the Emperor were. Luke's back was to her as he stood looking down at his father from the catwalk. It was the first glimpse of her Farmboy Athara had gotten since she left him in the speeder on Tatooine. Her heart was suddenly thrumming in her chest as worry mixed with her feelings for him.

Now wasn't the time for that, though, and she quickly pushed it aside lest the Emperor catch wind of it. She needed to figure out what to do next. She had the element of surprise, but she had no weapon. She suspected her lightsaber was either still on or near the Emperor's throne, but she didn't know that for sure. For the moment, all she could do was watch and wait for an opportunity. From where he stood above them all, Luke was speaking quietly to Vader.

"Your thoughts betray you, Father. I feel the good in you…the conflict." Her Farmboy's voice was low and soothing, and Athara couldn't help but be impressed with the effect he was having on her Master. He was right of course, and his gentle assured tone seemed to give strength to the remnants of Anakin that still lingered in the Dark Lord.

"There is no conflict," Vader replied quietly. She didn't know whom her Master was trying to fool. It was blatantly obvious to all that he was still fighting an internal battle against himself. Unfortunately it was also blatantly obvious that the good in him was still losing to the hold of the Dark Side. Luke pressed on, pacing slowly along the length of the catwalk, his voice still soft and confident as he spoke.

"You couldn't bring yourself to kill me before and I don't believe you'll destroy me now." Vader inched forward, his attention fixed solely on Luke. Athara frowned, not quite sure what he was planning to do.

"You underestimate the power of the Dark Side. If you will not fight, then you will meet your destiny." With a move that was almost too quick for the eye to follow he launched his lightsaber towards Luke, the ruby blade slicing through the support struts that suspended the walkway from the ceiling as Luke dove out of the way.

"No!" The cry was out of her mouth before Athara could stop it, though her hand snapped up to cover her mouth as though that could keep her outburst quiet. The grating metal screams of the collapsing catwalk drowned out most of her yell, but Vader heard her, the fathomless eyes of his mask swivelling to meet hers. She could feel herself beginning to tremble as a mixture of fear and anger threatened to overtake her. In an instant she was leaping forward herself, clearing the gantry and the abyss that separated her from her Farmboy in a single Force-driven leap.

It was a stupidly impulsive move.

No sooner had she charged toward Vader and Luke than the Emperor realized she was free from his control. His face twisted into a feral snarl as his hand swept up. Though no lightning came at her this time, Athara was nonetheless dashed against the wall as a wave of Dark Force energy slammed into her body even as her boots had touched the ground. Again the wind was knocked out of her and the force of her impact left her dazed as she slumped against the wall, her head awkwardly pillowed on her arm as her cheek and nose pressed against the cool floor. Distantly she could feel Luke's shock and fear as he watched her sink motionless to the ground, no matter that he tried desperately to hide it.

His expression calming but losing none of its intensity, Palpatine had turned back to Vader, silently urging him forward as though Athara's interruption was no more than an annoyance. But even as her vision and thoughts cleared, Athara could feel that Vader was shaken by her appearance. Nevertheless, he did as Palpatine had bid and descended the stairs before disappearing beneath the platform upon which the Emperor stood. A smile had returned to Palpatine's scarred face.

In a fit of desperation, Athara tried to reach out again. Her eyes closed in pain as Vader brushed her aside, intent on ignoring her as the Emperor urged him on. For a brief instant Luke's consciousness latched on to hers almost desperately, seeking reassurance that she was all right before abruptly cutting her off. Lifting her head, she could see the slow, purposeful way Vader was pacing beneath the platform, his glowing red blade casting ominous shadows about him as he walked.

"You cannot hide forever, Luke," came his deep voice. Athara could barely breathe. She knew that, though everything in him was screaming for him to turn away from this, Vader would kill his son if he were to find him now. An involuntary sob threatened to tear from Athara's throat as the realization settled in her chest. Though she fought the thought back, she couldn't help but wonder if she was about to witness her Master murder the man she loved.


	29. Chapter 28

"You cannot hide forever, Luke," Vader intoned even as he searched for his son amid the darkness beneath the platform upon which the Emperor's throne sat.  

"I will not fight you," Luke's disembodied voice drifted out from below the Emperor's platform, sounding deceptively calm. Just as she could feel Vader's conflict, she could now feel her Farmboy's. It was as she had feared; her sudden appearance had unsettled him. Seeing her at the mercy of the Emperor's power had shaken his control and he was now fighting to get it back.

"Give yourself to the Dark Side. It is the only way you can save Athara," Vader's voice was soft and distressingly genuine. Athara felt her chest tighten at what he was trying to do, how he believed what he was saying in that moment. He had convinced himself that, if Luke would only submit, the Emperor might show mercy. "I know you love her, Luke." She felt Luke's shock and distress at the blunt way Vader spoke. Her own dismay that he had chosen to use their feelings against his son crushed all remaining breath from her. Anger began welling in her again, and she was of half a mind to let it. If it hadn't been for the delighted satisfaction she could feel pouring off Palpatine in waves, she just might have given in. But he wanted that, and she refused let him have it. That didn't halt the alarm growing within her at the way Luke was beginning to waver, his fear and anger beginning to get the best of him.

"No, please…" the plea was past her lips before she could stop it. She didn't know who it was aimed at, Luke or her Master. She wasn't even sure at first if either of them had heard her, her voice had been so weak. Yet they did. She could see Vader had turned, his fathomless gaze on her as a flash of pain went through him. But he quickly shunted it aside. Luke, on the other hand, seemed to take strength from it, his resolve bolstering as he redoubled his efforts to regain control over his emotions. Vader, though, pressed on, sensing that his words had been having the effect he was after. Struggling to push aside the pain still washing through her from slamming into the wall, Athara pulled herself up until she was almost sitting, though her attention didn't waver from her Master.

"You think either of you can hide it from me? I raised her from a child; she can hold no secrets from me. Nor can you. Your feelings for her are too strong to deny. Only if you join us can you hope to save her…and your friends." Vader paused amid the supports and consoles that littered the underbelly of the Emperor's platform, turning slowly as though something had caught his attention. Athara grimaced; she could feel Luke's control unraveling as Vader prodded at his son's thoughts. "Yes, your feelings for them are strong. Especially for…sister!" The shock that went through Athara had all the potency of a lightning bolt. Though he gave no outward sign of his own shock, she could feel that her Master was almost overwhelmed at the revelation. But the part of him that marvelled that he had another child was almost completely subsumed by the Dark Side. The Darkness in Vader surged forward, latching onto Luke's anguish at betraying this last secret.

"So, you have a twin sister. Your feelings have now betrayed her too. Obi-wan was wise to hide her from me. Now his failure is complete.” Vader’s paced slowed to a stop as he turned, one last cruel taunt slipping free. “If you will not turn to the Dark Side, then perhaps she will."

"Never!!" Rage exploded within Luke and before Athara even grasped what had happened, he had attacked Vader, his green-bladed lightsaber flashing as he slashed at his father, driving him back.

"Luke!" she screamed, but he paid her no attention. The pervasive Dark haze that was the Emperor's presence had pressed in around her Farmboy, driving him on and inflaming his rage further. In an instant she was on her feet, forcibly ignoring the way her head was spinning. But she could only watch in horror as Luke's frenzied attack pushed Vader back toward the turbolift shaft and gantry, the sheer force of his rage too much for Vader to rally against. She bit back a cry when her Master fell to his knees under the strength of her Farmboy's assault and nearly screamed when Luke's emerald blade sliced through her Master's wrist, choking instead on her anguish. With a cry of his own, her Master collapsed to the ground, his remaining hand raised in entreaty as he audibly gasped for air, his respirator straining. Luke's lightsaber was leveled at his throat.

"Good!" Beginning the descent from his dais, Palpatine was practically vibrating with excitement, clapping slowly as a wide smile stretched across his distorted features. "Your hate has made you powerful. Now, fulfill your destiny and take your Father's place at my side!" Luke's vivid blue eyes stood out against his pale face as the realization of what he had just done closed in around him.

Feeling her own rage growing, Athara took a hasty step forward. Without realizing it, she called her own lightsaber to her from where it still sat, tucked away and forgotten, on the Emperor's throne. The instant her fingers closed around it the blue blade sprang to life even as she leapt toward the ecstatically grinning Emperor. He didn't even gesture this time as his thoughts wrenched her lightsaber from her grasp and pitched her back again. Her face stung as though she had been backhanded. She was on her feet again almost immediately, though the horrified look on Luke's face as he looked from the Emperor, to her, then to his father and down at his own hand was enough to stop her in her tracks.

But then an understanding she was not privy to bloomed within him, causing Athara's brow to furrow with bewilderment. A sudden firm resolve came over his features, a deep calm settling around him that banished the Darkness. His lightsaber snapped off. Straightening as he stepped back from Vader, he turned, shooting her a brief reassuring glance before fixing his eyes on the Emperor. Athara gasped involuntarily as fear shot through her, but Luke's consciousness brushed against her mind, imploring her to trust him.

"Never," he said quietly, the shadow of a smile coming to his lips as he spoke. With a single, light gesture, he tossed his lightsaber away. "I'll never turn to the Dark Side." Athara was frozen, though her eyes were drawn from her Farmboy to the Emperor where he stood on the stairs. His twisted face was impassive as Luke stepped slowly toward him, his gaze unwavering. "You've failed, Your Highness. I am a Jedi, like my father before me." Palpatine's face remained almost expressionless as Luke spoke, though a deep fury was growing in his eyes. The haze that surrounded him roiled and thickened, fuelled by the Emperor's black rage. But Luke stood firm. As though inspired by the brush of calm she'd felt from Luke, something clicked in Athara then, something similar to what she felt growing in her Farmboy. It was a feeling she couldn't name, but she trusted it.

Taking a deep, shaking breath she too stepped forward, coming to stand beside her Farmboy facing the Emperor. His venomous yellow eyes glanced over to her but she met it without flinching, just as Luke had.

"As am I," she added softly, her fingers moving to lace with Luke's, "it's over, Palpatine." A trace of a sneer appeared on the Emperor's face.

"So be it…Jedi," he murmured scathingly. He was too calm, especially given the way the Dark Side churned about him. Athara's fingers tightened on Luke's as Palpatine's hand rose, pointing menacingly at them both.

"If you will not be turned, you will be destroyed." Her heart nearly stopped as bolts of vivid blue Force lightning erupted from his fingers, ripping into Luke and sending him crashing back toward the chasm behind them, tearing his hand painfully from hers. A strangled cry rose in her throat, but before she could react further Palpatine had turned to her.

She had already suffered an assault of his lightning, but she realized now as the blinding bolts surged through her again that the Emperor had been holding back their full intensity before. An excruciating pain such as she had never experienced tore through her body, every muscle wrenched taut as she writhed in agony. Her skin felt like it was boiling and burning as she was thrown to the floor, her body arching and jerking with every renewed bolt. She couldn't make even the smallest sound as the Emperor's lightning ravaged her senses, the very breath crushed from her lungs. And then he relented.

"Young fools," Palpatine said with a tone that sounded jarringly regretful, "only now, at the end, do you understand." Athara's vision wavered and threatened to blacken, the flickering residual brightness of the lightning still streaking across her vision as her racing pulse roared in her ears. But the respite didn't last. Another burst of lightning coursed through her body, as though to punctuate the Emperor's words. This time a shriek that perfectly vocalized her agony managed to escape her throat before the onslaught ebbed. A pained moan escaping her as she struggled to regain her feet, she caught a glimpse of Vader's shadow passing her as her Master staggered over to stand at the Emperor's side. Another stream of lightning erupted from Palpatine's outstretched hands, throwing Luke back as he too tried to regain his feet.

"Your feeble skills are no match for the power of the Dark Side." Palpatine had finished descending the stairs, looming over Athara and Luke. There was nothing but contempt in his voice now.

Palpatine renewed his attack on Luke, sending him tumbling from the canisters he had been clinging to down to the cold durasteel floors. He was only an arm's length away. She could see with horrible clarity the way his face twisted and spasmed as the lightning licked over his body. The sharp scent of burnt ozone clogged the air, making the already difficult task of breathing harder still.

"You have paid the price for your lack of vision," Palpatine was still steadily approaching them, Vader close by his side. As her Master's cloak passed by her outstretched arm, her fingers somehow managed to close on the fabric, tugging at him with what little strength she had left. The black cloth pulled from between her fingers without any real trouble as he moved, though Vader did pause, looking down on her from behind his expressionless mask. Palpatine's lightning threw the harsh contours of his mask into sharp, terrifying relief, but Athara felt nothing of what was going on behind it as she looked up at him. She was too numb from the pain.

At her side she faintly heard Luke pleading for his father to help them. Her Master's gaze shifted, taking in his son's writhing form. The blackness of unconsciousness threatened at the edge of Athara's vision, but she fought against it, no matter how tempting it was to allow herself to slip into a painless oblivion. A scream echoed beside her as Palpatine's lightning continued, unrelenting, in his attack on Luke. Then it was surging through her again.

She didn't know how much more she could take. She could have sworn she felt her heartbeat faltering as deadly bolts continued. She was gasping weakly for air when the lightning faded, the room going silent save for her and Luke's laboured breathing and the faint sound of Vader's damaged respirator.

"Now, young Jedi, you will die," Palpatine intoned softly, satisfaction bleeding into his voice. Somehow she managed to turn her head just enough that she could see her Farmboy's face. He was watching her, the same love that she felt surfacing through the pained-fogged look in his eyes. With what felt like a monumental effort she reached for him, meeting his own fingers even as he reached for her, oblivious to the way the Emperor's victorious expression was melting into one of twisted rage. A faint sigh escaped her lips as her Farmboy's hand met hers.

Their fingers had barely touched when the lightning exploded over them again. They were close enough now that Palpatine didn't even have to alternate between them anymore. Another desperate scream tore from Athara again, echoing a similarly agonizing cry from Luke as they both writhed and thrashed under the mercy of the vicious bolts. But she refused to let go of his hand, gripping it tighter even as he did the same. It didn't seem possible, but the power of the Emperor's Force lightning intensified. If it had been excruciating before, there were no words to describe it now.

And then it was gone. But she could still hear the terrible crackling shriek of the lightning and see its eerie flickering glow throwing dark shadows all around her. Beside her Luke managed to prop himself up, looking toward the Emperor with bewilderment. Though it took her more effort, Athara managed to pull herself up as well.

Only to be utterly shocked at the sight of her Master hoisting Palpatine up and over his head.

The vibrant blue lightning seemed to cling to Vader's towering black form as he stumbled toward the turbolift gantry. With a final, heaving effort, he hurled the Emperor over the railing that stood on the edge of the abyss-like shaft. As he slumped against the canisters next to the railing, an explosion down in the chasm below reverberated up the tower. Great roaring gusts of wind surged up over the gantry, tugging angrily at Vader's cloak.

Even as the wind tore at her, a gasp broke free from Athara as her Master collapsed and she struggled to her feet, fighting against the gusts toward him. She reached his side as they died down. The way he wheezed painfully, his respirator barely functioning, sent a bolt of terror through her. Taking hold of his broad shoulders, her fingers burying themselves in his cape, she struggled to pull him back from the edge of the chasm. He was too heavy and she was too weak. It wasn't until Luke appeared at her side that together they were able to pull him back, laying him gently down on the durasteel.

The tower around them shuddered as Athara's practiced eye flew over the readings on her Master's chestplate and the function boxes on his belt. What little that was still operational told her that her Master was in a really bad way. She could feel him slipping in and out of consciousness. His suit was failing, and if it failed, she knew he would die. Immediately she began fiddling with the system controls, desperate to do anything that would keep them working, ignoring the way her Master was weakly trying to push her hands aside with his mutilated arm.

"Athara," Luke's voice was gentle but urgent. She almost didn't hear him she was so intent on trying to get one of the panels that regulated his respirator working again. He captured her hands, not letting go even when she struggled to pull away, "Athara, we have to get out of here." Panic flared within her, her eyes going wide.

"I can't leave him," she blurted out, too distressed to think on what she was saying, "he's the only family I have." A faint reassuring smile appeared on Luke's face as he reached out to cup her cheek for a brief moment.

"We're not going to," he assured her, "but the deflector shield is down. The fighters sent to destroy this station may already be inside the superstructure. We have to go." She only barely understood what he was saying, but she went along with it, helping Luke pull her Master to his feet.

All three of them were weak from the Emperor's lightning, but somehow they all managed to stagger into the turbolift, pausing only to collect Luke and Athara's lightsabers. From there, it was a harrowing journey through the maze of halls to one of the few completed hangar bays that littered the station. Thankfully, Athara's memory from the first Death Star, Luke's memory of the route by which he was brought to the Emperor and the odd instruction from her Master kept them from getting horribly lost.

As they trekked through the Death Star, her senses slowly recovered and her mind cleared. Athara was soon very aware of the fact that they were running out of time.

The Battlestation was in chaos; officers, workers and Stormtroopers ran about the corridors in a confused panic while everywhere alarms and warnings screamed. The sound and feel of explosions echoed through the hallways. The air was thick with the smell of charred electronics and the sour scent of desperation and terror. At one point, shortly after the three of them had exited the turbolift, a huge shudder went through the station, followed immediately by the reverberating roar of a massive explosion. Luke and Athara both froze, afraid that it was a herald of an even larger explosion that would rip the entire station apart.

"It was from the surface," Athara finally concluded, judging from some of the smaller explosions that followed, "not the core."

"We still have time," Luke breathed gratefully. Though relieved that they weren't out of time yet, there was an added urgency as they finally reached the hangar. As they passed through the bulkhead into the landing bay, Athara could feel the last of her strength waning under her Master's deadweight. He was supported between her and Luke, but he was barely able to do more than stumble along with them. It meant that the bulk of his weight fell on Luke and Athara, both still severely weak themselves. Luke let out a wearied sigh of relief when he caught sight of the Imperial shuttle left in the middle of the bay. It looked undamaged and unguarded with the boarding ramp already lowered, all of which were encouraging.

As they began their struggle to ascend the ramp, just as Athara felt the last of her strength sapping away, her Master's legs went out from under him, the final remnants of his strength gone. Athara couldn't even make it the last few steps up the ramp before she crumpled herself, the three of them collapsing halfway up the ramp.

Knowing she didn't have the physical strength left to help Luke pull her Master's form from the half prone position he had landed in into the shuttle proper, she pulled herself to her feet and stumbled to the cockpit, starting up the shuttle with long practiced instinct more than intentional thought. With primary systems blinking to life and the stardrives humming as they came online, Athara was out of the pilot's seat again, determined to check on her Master and help Luke if she could. Another flash of panic went through her at what awaited her.

Luke was kneeling beside his father, still on the ramp, supporting him as he leaned in close. Her Master was barely conscious. His helmet lay forgotten at his side as his real eyes focused for the first time on his son.

"Go, my son. Leave me," it was little more than a gasp his voice was so weak. Athara choked with grief at the sound. Hearing him like this, barely strong enough to gasp out a few words, left her feeling hollow and shattered. Luke shook his head, a determined light in his eyes.

"No. You're coming with us. I'll not leave you here, and neither will Athara. We've got to save you." Athara was clinging to the frame at the head of the shuttle's boarding ramp, fighting back her grief. A weak smile came to her Master's face.

"You already have, Luke. You were right about me, both of you. Tell your sister…you were right." Athara bit back a sob; she could feel her Master's life force dimming. She stumbled down the ramp, all but collapsing at his side. Luke barely registered her presence, his hands tightening on his father's shoulders as the last of his father's strength ebbed away, his rasping breath growing shallower with each passing moment.

"Father," her Farmboy's voice wavered, "I won't leave you." Another blast rocked the station, momentarily distracting Athara as, at the other end of the hangar, a large section of superstructure gave way with a crash. Athara gritted her teeth, tearing her gaze from her Master's face to Luke.

"Help me," she said, with a voice that was steadier than she felt as she took a firm grip under her Master's arm and shoulder. Though it took him a second to realize she had spoken, Luke immediately understood, taking a similar grip on his father's still form and helping Athara drag him the rest of the way into the shuttle.

As soon as they had him laid out on the floor of the shuttle, Luke was off to the cockpit. Athara, meanwhile, knelt beside her Master, the only father she had known. After a moment, she reached out, laying a hesitating hand against his pale, scarred cheek. As she did, she realized with a pained jolt that this was the first time she had truly seen his face. She had caught glimpses in the past, yes, but her Master had always been careful to shield her from ever really seeing him without his mask. Below them, she could feel the shuttle's engines coming to life as the ship lifted off from the hangar.

At her touch his eyelids fluttered, opening slowly with a great deal of effort. Somehow she managed a wane smile. She'd never realized he had blue eyes. Just like Luke's. With a heavy sigh her Master tried in vain to lift his own hand to reach hers. Fighting back another wave of grief, Athara clutched his remaining hand.

"I'm sorry, Athara," he whispered, his strength all but gone, "I failed you." She fought back the tears that threatened to come to her eyes with mixed success. Slowly she shook her head.

"No you didn't. You kept me safe all these years. You protected me. You loved me. That's why I knew there was good in you; you wouldn't have done that if you were truly lost." A tear trickled down his marred cheek as he looked up at her.

"That does not make up for what I have done, what I have taken from you." Athara had to bite back a flicker of resentment at the undeniable truth of his words. But she was tired of loathing him. The man looking up at her was not the same man who had done those horrible things, no matter how responsible he felt. She merely shook her head again.

"What's done is done," she said firmly, her grip tightening on his hand. Though slowly losing their focus, his eyes were still fixed intently on her.

"I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness—" Athara began vehemently shaking her head at the finality of his tone, cutting him off before he could go any farther.

"No. No, don't say it like that. You cannot die, Master. We're finally free! Anakin! We're finally free of him!" The already faint light in his eyes was beginning to fade as she spoke, though the sound of his name renewed that weak glimmer, "What about your son? He's only just found you. And what about your daughter? You've never even met her. Do you not want to live for them?!" A haze that Athara recognized had come over his dimming eyes, and when he spoke his voice was far away.

"My son…my daughter…I knew we were going to have a girl…I always dreamed she'd look like her mother…" Athara seized on that.

"They know nothing of her, nothing of their mother. You need to tell them of her. Please, Master. You can't give up!" His eyes came back to Athara, though part of her knew he no longer quite saw her. A spark of grief-driven desperation went through her then.

"What about me?" It was little more than a whispered sob, "you can't leave me now." The ghost of a smile crossed his lips.

"Loo…look after my son. He loves you…as I loved my angel. It is too…late for me…let me go." With a soft sigh his eyes closed. Athara only watched in stunned silence, not willing to believe what was happening.

"No—" It was a frightened gasp first, but then her voice strengthened, now determined as resolve flowed through her. "No!"

She let go, letting her feelings guide her. Her hand dropped from where it had rested against his scarred cheek to his chest, where her fingers rested on the thick metal of his breastplate, as close to his staggering heart and scarred lungs as she could manage.

As her eyes slid shut, she gathered what she could of the Force around her, coaxing it into her own body, before letting it flow down her arm and through her fingers into her Master's still form. Beneath her fingers his heart fluttered weakly, and shallow breaths fought in and out of his battered chest. Everything she had she channelled into him, willing his body to strengthen, his heart to steady and his lungs to heal. The shuttle shuddered around them, buffeted by the immense explosion that she didn't even register. She begged the Force for him to live.

As the last of her own wane energy was spent, Athara tipped slowly sideways, falling against her Master, her hand still pressed against his chest as her world went black.

The last thing she remembered was the feel of a fleeting touch on her cheek, a final, loving farewell.


	30. Chapter 29

When she finally woke, Athara didn't recognize her surroundings in the slightest. She was in a little hut, the walls made in part of sticks and branches and part of the hollowed out interior of what looked like a tree. The small room was filled with what looked to her like a mix of a primitive being's necessary and prized possessions. She was lying on a surprisingly comfortable pallet made up of furs and soft leaves and mosses. On the far side of the room from her was a little door, covered only with a swath of rough-spun fabric.

For a brief, fleeting moment she wondered if she was in Yoda's little hut. But then logic prevailed and she realized that was highly unlikely. This dwelling was smaller—but still taller, though only marginally so—and was obviously of a different sort of construction. More than that, the air was different. It was nothing like the dank, swampy smell that had permeated Dagobah. There was a thick woody smell to the air, threaded with the pungent scents of wood smoke, cooking food and a faintly musky scent that immediately brought fur to mind.

But then something else caught her attention. From outside the hut came the unmistakable sounds of celebration. She could faintly hear happy calls and shouts, the crackling of large fires, the distant crash of fireworks and the dim rhythmic tones of triumphant music.

Understanding came upon her then, mingled with incredulous disbelief.

The Emperor was dead. The second Death Star was destroyed.

They had done it.

She could hardly believe it. But then grief crashed in around her.

Her Master was gone. Anakin had destroyed Vader just as surely as he had destroyed the Emperor, but he had sacrificed himself to do it. She could almost remember trying to save him, but the memory was fuzzy. But a sinking feeling deep in her stomach and the answering crush of emotion in her chest told her that she had failed. All she could do was curl in on herself, fighting back the sobs that threatened to rip through her chest. She may have found out who her father and mother were on Tatooine, but on the Death Star she had realized that her Master was her family, and the closest thing to a father she had ever known. She didn't know how long she lay there, curled around herself as she let the first shocking wave of grief pass over her.

 _Let me go,_ came the echo in her thoughts. It broke through the grief threatening to drown her as swiftly as a Tatooine sunrise breaks over the desert. A faint smile came to her face. Whether it was memory of his last words to her, or his actual voice speaking in her thoughts, she didn't know. But she realized then that she hadn't lost him as completely as she thought.

It took a surprising amount of effort to sit. Her head throbbed at first, though she was soon able to banish it with the help of the Force. Her body was another matter. Every muscle in her body ached and she felt so stiff she could barely move. But she had survived and this was likely to be the referenced 'worse' she'd refer to surviving in the future. She brushed it aside as best she could, ignoring the way her body protested. At first she staggered as she got to her feet, but her legs had mostly steadied by the time she reached the cloth-draped door.

She nearly gasped as she stepped through the low door, though her lips did part with surprise. The hut was nestled in the branches of a massive tree, and all around her were dozens upon dozens more, all linked by crude but sturdy winding ramps, stairs and rope bridges. The hut she was in looked down over a great platform lined with more huts that spanned the space between a handful of enormous tree trunks. Some of the giant trees themselves had been hollowed as well to create larger communal spaces. It was a primitive tree-bound city. Everywhere fires glowed in the night, from tiny flickering lights off in the distance to a bonfire surrounded by dancing figures immediately below her. Even far below on the forest floor she thought she could see glimpses of fires surrounded by dancing figures. It was a beautiful scene that nearly took her breath away.

It was an eclectic crowd that danced and feasted below Athara. Short, furred creatures wearing handmade hoods and headdresses immediately stood out to her as the native denizens of this tree-dwelling community. Among them and celebrating along with them were members of the Alliance; she recognized the uniforms and flightsuits that interspersed and mingled with the diminutive natives. Faintly she thought she could recognize a few faces from where she stood above the celebrating gathering. There was Wedge, she thought, and General Madine, and a woman that was possibly Mon Mothma. An inadvertent smile came to her face when she caught a glimpse of Chewie towering over the natives and Artoo beyond him. Absently she wondered where Luke was, longing to see him, to let him try and comfort her as she knew he would, just as she knew she would do her best to comfort him.

With a sigh she sat on the balcony just outside the hut she had woken up in, stretching her legs out along the ledge in front of her, looking out over the festive scene. She didn't feel a part of it, though. She rejoiced with them, of course, but she didn't quite feel like she belonged among them. She had purposefully avoided thinking on her past since she abandoned the Empire, but in that moment, looking down at the victorious faces glowing with excitement, it lingered like a dark shadow in the back of her mind. A flicker from the Force alerted her that someone was approaching.

"Hey," came a quiet voice from the shadows behind her. Slowly she turned, looking up at Han as he walked slowly toward her. She fought the feeling of guilt that tried to surge through her—it was nearly powerful enough to drown out the immense relief she felt at seeing him again, whole and safe, after fighting the lingering fear in the back of her mind that the rescue had failed—though she wasn't able to stop the way the blood left her face. She tried to smile in greeting, as her voice refused to work just yet, but it came out as more of a grimace. A ghost of his crooked smile appeared on his face. After a moment of hesitation, he settled himself beside her, dangling his legs over the edge as he too looked down over the festivities. More and more members of the Alliance were trickling onto the platform, joining the party. Athara caught sight of Lando among the newcomers, a wide smile on his friendly face as he greeted those around him.

"It's hard to believe the Emperor's really gone, isn't it." Han finally said quietly. Absently she nodded, trying to keep her thoughts from lingering as they were wont to on the gulf of her actions that lay between them. Han had quickly become her friend after she had met him, and she had betrayed him on Cloud City. She couldn't forgive herself for that. It was a feeling that was churning away in her gut and eventually she felt compelled to say something.

"Why did you come up here," she finally said, unable to hide her dejection from her voice. "You must hate me for what I did, so why would you—" He looked over at her when she was unable to continue, choking as she was on her shame and regret. She risked a quick glance at him before fixing her eyes back on the bonfire below. His eyes were serious but thoughtful as he watched her, but beyond that she couldn't quite pick out what he was feeling.

"That's just it," he responded quietly after a moment, leaning back a little as his own gaze returned to the celebrating group around the fire, "I don't. Hate you, that is." Her attention shot back to him, her eyes wide with shock. A flicker of hope kindled at the way he said it, though she tried to ignore it. She didn't want to get her hopes up. He shrugged in the deliberately casual way she had seen a hundred times before when he was trying to deflect attention from how he really felt. When he didn't continue she felt compelled to ask.

"Why not?" He shrugged again before meeting her eyes.

"I trusted you, I guess. It didn't take a lot to figure out you didn't want to be where you were anymore than we did. I saw the look on your face when Leia pulled off your hood, though it took me a while to realize what it meant." Athara couldn't hold his frank gaze any longer, her eyes dropping to her hands where they were clenched, white-knuckled, in her lap. She focused instead on forcing her fingers to relax.

"Plus," his voice had taken on the nonchalant tone he used when trying to lighten the mood. Athara appreciated it, especially as it did work a little. "Luke and Chewie did tell me all about what else you did on Bespin…so did Lando. He told me about how you convinced him to help Leia and Chewie. And Chewie told me how you covered the _Falcon_ 's escape and left the message about the hyperdrive. Even Leia admitted that you've been trying to make up for Bespin ever since." Athara nearly laughed at that.

"I have to say, I find it hard to believe that Leia advocated for me at all," Athara couldn't help but say skeptically. Han shrugged again, a faint smile playing about his lips.

"Well, she still suffers from everything that happened to her on the first Death Star, and now what happened on Bespin too. She hates Vader because of it, and part of her hates you, even though she knows now that you were just as much a prisoner as she was." It was so matter of fact and ungrudging that it startled her.

"No quite so much," Athara muttered, her resentment at her own actions resurfacing.

"Hey," he interrupted her despondent thoughts with a gentle admonishment, "We all saw you when Luke brought you back here from the second Death Star. He told us about what happened. You were nearly dead, Athara. No one doubts that the Emperor had it out for you. Knowing what I know now, about your past? It's kind of a miracle that you've survived this long and that you risked joining the Alliance at all. It took guts to do everything you've done. To turn your back on everything you'd ever known? On Vader?" His hand came to rest on her shoulder as she fought back tears at the mention of her Master. "I don't blame you for what happened to me now, though I have to admit, I did a little at first. And I don't think you should blame yourself either. As for everything else, well," he shrugged again, "you'll have to find a way to live with it. I've done things too that I'm not proud of, but…" he hesitated, his eyes fixing on something down below, "hey, it brought me to where I am now." Athara followed his gaze.

He was watching Leia where she stood smiling among the furry natives, dressed in clothes that appeared to have been made by the jovial little creatures. After a moment the Princess seemed to feel Han's gaze, looking up at him with a luminous smile. When the Princess caught sight of Athara sitting beside her smuggler, Leia's smile dimmed, but the look of resentment and hatred Athara was used to seeing was absent. Something rather like hope flickered in Athara then. Perhaps he was right.

With a cheeky grin Han stood, his grip tightening reassuringly on her shoulder for a moment before he turned to descend back down to his Princess.

"You're welcome to join the party, you know," he called over his shoulder, his tone teasing as he glanced back at her before disappearing down the stairs. Moments later he reappeared below, wending his way through the celebrating crowd to embrace Lando. Athara leaned back against the hut, still watching the festivities below. She couldn't help but grin when she saw Threepio dancing with one of the furry natives while beyond him Chewie exuberantly embraced Lando himself. Han was standing with Leia now as he watched his co-pilot and friend exchange stories about the recent battle, his fingers entwined with hers as she leaned contentedly against him.

But then Athara felt a presence through the Force that she had been absently searching for since she first woke.

It seemed Leia noticed him approaching too, for the instant Athara looked toward her approaching Jedi, Leia was already moving to embrace him. He hugged her back with an affectionate smile, his expression holding a look she hadn't seen before.

It was her, Athara realized with a start, the Force humming around her as the epiphany broke over her. Leia was the sister Luke had been trying to hide from the Emperor and his father. But somehow Athara found she really wasn't as shocked as she probably should have been; it felt right. There had always been a connection between them, only Athara had believed it due to the friendship between the Princess and the young Jedi. It seemed so obvious now, as she looked down on them, that that connection had run far deeper than mere friendship.

After a moment Leia released him and Han stepped forward to greet his friend as well before gesturing up toward where Athara still sat, frozen as anticipation flooded through her. At Han's gesture, Luke looked up at her, the relief in his eyes mirroring her own.

Her breath catching in her throat, Athara was on her feet in an instant, dashing down the crude steps to the platform below. In a heartbeat she was in his arms, barely able to breath through her relief that he was all right. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Han's crooked grin as he watched the reunion, and she was startled by the faint glimmer of acceptance in Leia's eyes as she leaned into Han's arms. But then her attention was wholly on Luke as he drew back, looking down at her as his fingers glided over her cheek. Not caring that they were in the middle of a crowd she leaned up, pressing her lips to his. As he kissed her back, pulling her close, Athara sighed, finally feeling the same elation as those around her.

She was free. They were all free. A few teasing jeers sounded faintly around them but Athara paid them no mind. With a wide, pleased smile Luke eventually pulled back, tenderly brushing a strand of her hair back behind her ear. Her arm wound around his waist as she leaned into him, looking out over the celebrating people around her.

"Ata!" Athara jerked around at the sound of the familiar voice and was nearly bowled over as Mona all but threw herself at her. Athara couldn't stop the smile or the tears that stung her eyes as she hugged her adopted sister back just as tightly as the younger woman held her. Mona was practically vibrating she was so ecstatic.

"It's done!" she gasped, smiling so widely Athara was briefly afraid her face would split, "Ata, he's gone!" Athara took Mona's face in her hands, fighting back the tears of happiness that threatened. Off behind her, Luke was reuniting with Wedge, though she could swear she felt his eyes on her periodically.

"Yes," she managed to choke out in response, "Palpatine is gone. I saw it with my own eyes." Mona's smile widened as she hugged Athara tightly again.

"Come on," she said after a moment, pulling Athara along behind her as she dove into the crowd, "there's someone who wants to see you." They didn't have to go far.

"Commander Adyé," Athara said with a start when she realized just whom Mona was taking her to see. The Commander smiled a little when he caught sight of Athara. Before she could react further he had stepped forward, drawing her into a quick, though slightly awkward embrace.

"Athara Adyé," he said as he pulled back, his eyes scanning over her features. "I am glad you are all right." Athara couldn't help but smile at how genuinely he meant that. It still wasn't something she was used to. A faint, wistful cast came over his features as she did.

"And I you, Commander," she automatically replied, surprising herself at how much she too meant every word. He made as though to reach out to her, but hesitated, the wistful look growing.

"I don't know if anyone's ever told you, but you look an awful lot like your mother. Especially when you smile." Athara looked up at him with a flicker of surprise.

"I've heard it before," she said lightly, though she failed at masking the anxious tremor in her voice. "You knew her?" she asked hesitatingly. He smiled sadly.

"She was my older sister, well, half-sister." Athara's eyes widened with shock and surprise. After a moment he grinned slightly. "Which makes me your uncle, I suppose. I've actually met you before, you know. Neva was hiding on Naboo when you were born, but she wanted our father to meet you—his first grandchild. I actually held you once, when she brought you to see him. That's how I knew who you were the instant you told the Council your name; Athara, after your father's mother, Neva said. It was the last time I saw her…" he trailed off, his grief still lingering even after all these years. Athara felt her own sorrow rising to mirror his. This time when he reached out, his hand settled tentatively on her shoulder.

""You have no idea how happy I am that you lived, Athara, that part of my sister still lives." Athara's chest tightened at the earnest way he said it.

But they didn't dwell on their sorrow long. They simply couldn't. The joy around them was far too captivating. They soon parted ways, but only after Athara promised to seek out her newfound Uncle, a promise she eagerly made. Soon she was making her way back toward her friends and her Farmboy. She was physically and emotionally exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to find a quiet place to rest for a moment. Luke caught sight of her heading back toward him, Han and Leia, shooting her a quick smile before turning back to Chewie and Wedge. After a few quiet words, he patted the wookiee congenially on the shoulder before making his way through the revellers toward her. Smiling, she ducked off to the side, toward a shadowed walkway that led toward the stairs and the hut Athara had woken in. All she wanted were a few quiet moments with her Farmboy.

But then a tremor in the Force drew her attention away. It was so familiar that she actually gasped. She tried to steady her suddenly anxious heart rate, already knowing what she was going to see when she looked up. As she slowly lifted her head, she felt rather than saw Luke coming up beside her, a gentle, contented smile coming to his face as he saw what she did. Her hand rose to her mouth as Athara bit back her tears, stifling a gasp behind a smile as she did. They were bittersweet tears.

Just over the bridge beyond the main platform were three ghostly figures. Yoda sat on the railing looking satisfied as he looked over at Luke and Athara. To the diminutive Jedi's right stood Qui-gon, his hands tucked into his sleeves as he looked proudly on at his pupil, his eyes twinkling merrily as he met Athara's gaze.

On Yoda's other side, a pleased yet wistful smile on his own face, stood Obi-wan. He too smiled proudly at his own pupil before his gaze turned to Athara. Her breath hitched at the expression in his eyes. He loved her; her father loved her and was proud of her. More than that she realized it had been him…he was the one who had helped her on the Death Star; it had been her father that had shown her the way to free herself from Palpatine's control. A tiny, elated laugh escaped her. She couldn't even name the way his expression made her feel.

As they looked on, their ghostly mentors turned to watch as another form materialized, one that caused Athara to lean back against Luke, barely able to keep her feet as her emotions nearly overwhelmed her.

Anakin met her blue-gray gaze with a look of such pride and love that Athara felt her tears finally spill down her cheeks. Luke's hand captured hers, squeezing gently in reassurance. Absently she twined her fingers with his. Her Master smiled widely at the gesture, his gaze shifting to his son. After a moment though, his gaze shifted again, his eyes softening further even as a flicker of remorse appeared in his steady gaze.

Athara felt Leia's approach before she saw the Princess, but for once the anxious feeling she'd always gotten in Leia's presence never materialized. The Princess wrapped her arms around her brother's shoulders, smiling at him. Luke returned the look, and Athara could sense a deep feeling of satisfaction in him. After a moment Leia looked over at Athara. Though there was a lingering hesitation in her eyes, after a moment she gave the former Sith apprentice a faint smile.

Then she tugged gently at Luke, urging him to come back and rejoin the celebration. Glancing quickly at Athara and briefly back at the Jedi Masters who looked on, he followed his sister, his fingers still entwined with Athara's. She hesitated a moment longer, scanning the faces that proudly watched her and Luke one last time before following her Farmboy over to where Han, Chewie and Lando sat. Leia came to a stop behind Han, her hands resting on his shoulders as they exchanged a long look. Luke stopped beside Leia, gathering Athara under his arm as she caught up. With a deep sigh she leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder as her own arms wound about his waist. Before them the revellers danced on.

"So now what?" Han asked lightly, turning to glance up at Leia. She shook her head slightly before shrugging, leaning in closer to him. Athara sighed, leaning closer to her Farmboy as she thought, allowing herself to wonder at just that. Now what? Luke looked down at her, his mild gaze questioning. After a moment she looked up at him, a faint smile coming to her face. There was only one place she wanted to go just now. She could tell by the way her Farmboy was looking at her that he would willingly follow her anywhere.

"I think," she began quietly, drawing all of their gazes even though the revelry nearly drowned out her words, "I think I want to go…home."


	31. Epilogue

Being on Naboo just felt so right. It was funny, before Athara had never really considered any planet her 'Homeplanet', but when asked had always supposed Nubia, simply because her earliest memories were from there. But Naboo was different. It felt different; it felt right.

It felt like home.

Even now, years after her first visit, it still felt that way. Even though it felt like everything else in her life was different, it still felt like home. Okay, not everything was different, but nearly everything.

While the Emperor was gone, the Empire still lingered. The fight wasn't quite over yet. The Alliance was doing its best to fulfill its mandate to restore the Republic while also doing its best to deal with the remnants of Empire. With the Battle over Jakku ending so decisively in the Alliance's favour and the Galactic Concordance Treaty bringing about a truce and ongoing disarmament between the Empire and the newly reformed Republic, there was a real hope for peace.

And there were Jedi again, or at least there would be once they completed their training, though their numbers were still, understandably, very low. So Athara intended to keep fighting too, as did Luke, Han, Leia, Chewie, Mona—everyone who had joined the Alliance with the goal of defeating the Empire. Factions of the old Empire were fading away with each passing year—though some factions stubbornly held onto their ideals—and the New Republic was growing stronger, reforming the Senate and finally looking to right the social and political fallout that the creation of the Empire had inflicted on the Galaxy.

But then they went to Naboo, and everything faded away. It was the first place Athara wanted to go after Endor, and Luke was perfectly happy to go with her. It was there that she met her family, and learned more about her past. She met her Uncles, properly in the case of Commander Adyé, or Orran as she had come to know him. She had even properly met her Grandfather before he passed on, something she still couldn't quite believe had happened.

They had found Padmé there.

Never had Athara dreamed that they would find Luke's mother alive and well on Naboo, waiting in the Guesthouse for Athara to return to hear more about her own mother, though she'd been going by Dema for many long years. The older woman had recognized Luke the instant he had walked through her door, and everything had come out from there. Athara finally understood why the older woman had seemed so familiar. Leia heavily favoured her mother, both possessing the same strong will and flashing dark eyes. But she could see traces of the Nabooian woman in her son too; there was a quietness to Padmé that Luke had obviously inherited from his mother.

Eventually, after a little bit of work and scheming, she and Luke convinced Han and Leia join them. At first they had only agreed so that Leia could finally meet Padmé, but they both had quickly fallen in love with Naboo too. It had since become their family's oasis; a place for their small but growing family to have some peace and regain some time after all they had lost.

Here particularly, Athara felt more at peace than she ever had. They currently sat in a meadow in Naboo's Lake Country. Orran had steered her towards the area on her and Luke's third or fourth visit to Naboo. The instant she had seen the clear, sparkling lakes amid the lush green hills of the Nabooian retreat, Athara had never wanted to leave, and Luke was soon ready to agree. He had even proposed there, so to speak, suggesting that they should get married overlooking the Lakes even as they stood together looking out at the sunset-toned water. And once Han and Leia had agreed to come with them to the Lake Country, they had never wanted to leave either.

Especially Leia. They had all been shocked by the calm and the peace that had come over the Princess when she caught her first glimpse of the lake glittering in the sun. Athara couldn't help but think that, while it wouldn't replace Alderaan in the Princess's affections, Leia too had found that place that whispered, deep in her heart, _home_.

It was home now. Just past where Han and Leia sat quietly together, the children played happily. Never, not once, would Athara have pictured this scene in her future, and judging by some of the looks on Luke, Han and Leia's faces, there were times that they couldn't quite believe it either. The Empire had consumed their lives to the point that there didn't seem to be a future beyond it. And now they had this. The Solo and Skywalker children were the picture of innocence, and their laughter was infectious as they ran through the grass and wildflowers.

They made it all worth it.

Beyond them all, Han and Leia's son had picked a small handful of wildflowers, and was eagerly presenting them to his Grandmother, who sat nearby, looking quietly on as the children played. It was the first time that they had convinced Padmé to come with them to the Lake Country. For years she had resisted, and Athara thought she could guess—and understand—why; the few good memories she had with her husband, with Anakin, were from the Lake Country, and it was painful to return there without him.

It had been Padmé's idea to come to this meadow for their picnic. She hadn't explained why, but Athara felt like she knew anyway; she had come here with Anakin, and they had been happy here. She could see shadows of that in her mother-in-law's face. She was so at peace here, watching her grandchildren play, having her newly rediscovered family around her, safe and happy. But there was such a deep sadness in her too, and a longing that was very much evident in her eyes.

Athara and the other adults watched quietly as the boy handed his Grandmother her gift with a wide grin. The smile that broke through Padmé's memory-laden expression when Ben gave her a quick kiss on the cheek was as bright as the sun that shone overhead. Then he was off again to play with his little cousin. Across from her and Luke, Athara couldn't help but notice Leia's lips quirk up ever so slightly.

The Princess still hadn't quite reconciled that her birth mother hadn't died as she had been told long ago and still struggled with everything she had learned about her own past. She still hadn't quite accepted that Anakin was her father by blood, unable to quite see past Vader. And she still had trouble reconciling to herself how Padmé could still love him as fiercely as she did after everything he had done to her, to their family. Bail and Breha Organa had been the only parents Leia had known, and everyone could see how—though she understood and had no wish to diminish Leia's feelings for her adopted family—the realization pained Padmé. However, Leia had finally come to an understanding with her birth mother after her own son had been born, and had only tentatively accepted Padmé as her mother. As the years passed they continued to grow closer, their shared backgrounds proving a bridge between them that they could build on.

It seemed Han noticed her expression too, because he gave Leia a questioning look, tucking her a little closer into his side. The Princess tensed for a moment before a wider, contented smile came to her lips. Beside Athara, Luke shot his sister an understanding smile of his own before wrapping an arm around Athara's waist and pulling her a little closer himself, drawing an exasperated chuckle from her.

It was then that Athara noticed a faint bluish haze out of the corner of her eye. Looking over toward it she caught a glimpse of her Master settling beside Padmé. It had become a common sight to Luke and Athara, and more recently Leia, seeing Anakin close by Padmé's side. Even though the older woman couldn't see him as her children could, she always seemed to know he was there. There was no mistaking the connection between them, or the luminous intensity of the love in Anakin's eyes. Athara suspected that was, in part, what was finally softening Leia to Anakin; seeing how much he cared for his wife and how much peace it brought Padmé when he was near. It helped her believe that Anakin truly was a different person than Vader.

Anakin wasn't alone today, which wasn't really all that unusual either, though it was beginning to grow more infrequent. But Athara had expected to see her other Master, Qui-gon, standing near Anakin. She quite often sensed them in each other's company. They had become very close, Qui-gon helping Anakin find a way to forgive himself for all that he had done, and both of them helping her as she continued down the path away from the Dark Side, helping her to find the Jedi in herself. She still had a long way to go. She still struggled with guilt over the things she had done while under the thumb of the Dark Side. So much so that a part of her had even been disappointed when the newly reformed Galactic Republic had decided she was not to be punished or even reprimanded for her time as an Imperial agent because of her defection and subsequent contributions to the Alliance and the downfall of the Empire. But then, the former Sith apprentice had many dark memories that served as more of a punishment than any prison or torment anyone could have put to her.

But she didn't see whom she expected. Beside Anakin, engaging in quiet conversation it seemed, was Obi-wan. She almost didn't recognize him at first. All the care and worry had melted away with the premature years Tatooine's suns had imprinted on him. Instead of looking decades older than his former pupil, the two Jedi now looked nearly of an age. The two of them were watching the children; Anakin curled toward his wife, both with sad but contented smiles on their faces. But that's not what startled Athara the most.

Standing beside Obi-wan, tucked under his arm and holding him close just as Athara was with Luke, was a woman Athara would have recognized in an instant, even though she had only ever seen an old holo of her; Neva.

Her mother.

Tears sprang to Athara's eyes when the ghostly figure turned her hazel eyes toward her, a warm pride lighting in her gaze. There was so much love in that look that Athara felt for a moment that she couldn't breathe.

It was that moment that Athara's own daughter, little Ana, decided to run up and throw her arms around Athara's neck. For a long moment the little girl watched her mother's face, her sharp blue eyes thoughtful as they followed Athara's gaze; Ana had certainly inherited her father and grandfather's eyes.

"Why are you crying, Mama? Aren't you happy to see Nana?" Athara started before pulling her daughter into her arms and holding her tight. She knew the little girl wasn't referring to Padmé.

"No, sweetheart," Athara's eyes turned back to meet her own mother's gaze, "I am very happy. It's just that I haven't seen Nana since—well, in a very long time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it.
> 
> I don't have the words to adequately thank you all for favouriting, following, reviewing and, most importantly of all, for reading!
> 
> This is incredibly bittersweet for me. This story was ultimately ten years in the making and has been a substantial part of my literary life for all those years. It is very emotional to finally be saying goodbye to this particular chapter, to be writing the last A/N on the last post.
> 
> It is not, however, the last time you will see Athara! If you hit 'next chapter', you'll find a handy little break-down of the other stories of this 'Lady Adyé Series' that I have written/in production, from A Rogue One based story to my One-shot Collection, Their Lady Adyé and Part Three of the Main Trilogy, Lady Adyé: The Resistance Commander, starring Athara's daughter Ana! So there's still lots more to come!
> 
> So, to wrap it up: Thank you again. I don't have the words to describe just how honoured I am for everyone who read my little (but hugely time intensive and rather temperamental to write) bit of fun, especially those who were with me from the beginning. It's unbelievable, the support and encouragement I have received over the course of posting this story. I had modest hopes for reader turnout, reviews, favourites and so forth when I began posting this fanfic, but my estimates (and hopes) were nowhere near the extent that you all came out to leave your thoughts and favourite and follow it!
> 
> It means so much to me to share it and see other people enjoying the stuff that comes out of my overactive imagination.
> 
> I hope you'll leave me a review if you enjoyed, which I hope you did! :) Questions, comments, exclamations of disbelief or approval, theories or grievances…all welcome! (so long as it's related to the story, of course :P)
> 
> And one final time, Thank you all again from the bottom of my heart. I hope our *virtual* paths cross again.
> 
> May the Force be with you, and Happy Reading!
> 
> DarkLadyAthara


	32. The Story Continues

Hello There, My Lovely Readers,

If you are reading this, you have read and (hopefully) loved Athara's story! Well, there's more to her story and more to the Lady Adyé Story-verse than just Lady Obscura: Little More than a Shadow. The Story continues, my Star Wars-loving friends!

* * *

As I'm sure most of you know, since most of you read it before you made your way to Lady Obscura, there's Neva's story, **Lady Amalia: The Almost Queen**. If you haven't read it yet, I very highly recommend it! It's the story of Neva and Obi-wan—Athara's parents—and their star-crossed romance.

_Lady Amalia: The Almost Queen_ _: Neva Amalia Adyé had been a Princess, an almost-Queen and an Aide to Senator Amidala. She had come to Coruscant to be closer to the one person she couldn't be with; her Jedi. Focus on RotS with some AotC flashbacks. Obi-wan/OC with some Padme/Anakin. Prequel to "Lady Obscura: Little More Than a Shadow" and Part 1 of the Lady Adye Trilogy_

* * *

Next up is the third story in the Trilogy, **Lady Adyé: The Resistance Commander**. It's all about Ana, Athara and Luke's daughter. Yup! She's all grown up and a pilot for the Resistance and about to face the events of Episode VII and beyond!

_Lady Adyé: The Resistance Commander_ _: As Red Leader with the Resistance, Commander Ana Adyé was perfectly content living without the Force. Thanks to the shadows in her past, she wanted nothing to do with it. But when it wakes, stirred by events a long time coming, Ana doesn't know anymore if she can resist its call. Part 3 in the Lady Adyé Trilogy. LS/OC, HS/LO, PD/OC_

* * *

And don't forget about the One-Shot Companion Series, **Their Lady Adyé** : a series of one-shots that take place during, before or after the Lady Adyé Trilogy. Each of these instalments will be alternate PoVs/scenes that, for one reason or another, didn't make it into the main stories. To give you a taste, if you keep hitting "next", you can check out a sneak peek of the first instalment featuring the mysterious Dema from Naboo, Fragments of a Shattered Past.

_Their Lady Adyé_ _:_ _A series of one-shots from during, before or after stories of the"Lady Adyé" trilogy, which centre around Neva, Athara and Ana Adyé. Most of these one-shot will be alternate PoVs/scenes that, for one reason or another, didn't make it into "Lady Amalia: The Almost-Queen", "Lady Obscura: Little More than a Shadow" or "Lady Ady_ é _: The Resistance Commander". Featuring Luke, Han, Obi-wan, Vader, Leia, and of course, Neva, Athara and Ana._

* * *

And finally, we have **Lady Obscura: A Rogue One Story**. As I'm sure you all can guess from the title, it is to Lady Obscura: Little More than a Shadow what Rogue One is to Episode IV. It's all about Athara and her perspective of the events Rogue One explores. I know many of you have been curious about what Athara's life was like before she broke with the Empire, so here's a glimpse into her life as Lady Obscura!

_Lady Obscura: A Rogue One Story_ _:_ _Just as Rogue One serves as a Prologue to Episode IV, this story is a prologue to Lady Obscura: Little More than a Shadow. It provides a glimpse into Athara's life as Vader's Shadow in the critical lead up to the events that would culminate in the destruction of the Death Star over Yavin IV. A glimpse into the life of Lady Obscura. Part of the Lady Adyé Series._

* * *

Of course, you can find any of these new additions through my profile or basic search. I hope to see you there and I hope you enjoy!

Happy Reading,

And May the Force be with You!

DLA


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present to you, a Sneak Peek—a little taste—of the sorts of what is waiting for you in my One-Shot Companion Series, Their Lady Adyé.
> 
> Below is an excerpt from the first instalment, Fragments of a Shattered Past, which gives us a glimpse into just who Dema, Athara's mysterious Nabooian ally, is. I hope it intrigues you and that you'll all head over to see what other fun instalments are waiting for you! There are stories from Han, Leia, Vader, Obi-wan, Luke, and more!
> 
> I hope you enjoy the Sneak Peek!
> 
> And I hope to see you all over at Their Lady Adyé!

The earth was cool and soft beneath her fingers as the sun shone down overhead. A small, satisfied smile lit her face as her deft fingers tended her flowers and plucked any invading weeds, keeping the gardens that surrounded her little Guesthouse healthy and thriving. She was immensely proud of her little place, and dutifully and passionately saw to its care almost solely on her own.

She had come to Naboo over fifteen years ago now, nearly twenty, although it still felt deep down like she had returned to the green little planet after a long absence. It felt like home in a way Alderaan never had. Sure, both planets were beautiful, and in many ways quite similar, but Naboo's lakes and rivers pleased her eye and her soul in a way Alderaan's mountains and crisp cool air never had. For several years she had lived in a little community a little ways north of Alderaan's Capital City, Aldera. It was lovely, and she had been sad to leave when the time came, but she had felt it was time.

Her friend Bail, who had really been one of her only visitors, had insisted on taking care of the arrangements, and had chartered a small ship to take her and her companion Sabé to Naboo, a planet where Sabé had said they had a past. Then she had tried desperately to remember what that past was, only to come up with a crushing feeling in her chest and a memory of great pain.

She'd had no memory before waking up in the Medical Facility on Alderaan in the little town where she had made her home when she had lived on that planet. The only thing she faintly recalled was the memory of hearing people speaking over her, their voices wending in and out of her focus, dampened and distorted as though she had been deep underwater. It was from those memories that she dimly heard what she then assumed to be her name. "—dme Am—" she had heard; _Dema_ , her semi-conscious mind had interpreted, _my name must be Dema, for they are speaking about me_ , "can be no mo—must beli—ildren wi—for her saf—but tha—wins." The rest had been little more than gibberish to her shattered mind.

But then, almost everything she had heard in those days had been garbled and distant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! Again, I don't have the words to adequately thank you all for favouriting, following and reviewing! And, most importantly, thank you again for reading my little (but hugely time intensive and somewhat temperamental to write) bit of fun. It means so much to me to share it and see other people enjoying the stuff that comes out of my overactive imagination.
> 
> If you enjoyed this Sneak Peek, be sure to head over to the One-shot Collection for the Lady Adyé Series, Their Lady Adyé to read the rest! Fragments counts as the first with many more ready to go and in the works featuring deleted scenes and alternative perspectives from all your favourites: Han, Leia, Luke, Obi-wan, Vader and more! Not to mention Neva, Athara and Ana!
> 
> And be sure to check out the sequel to Athara's story, Lady Adyé: The Resistance Commander and the Rogue One-inspired Mini-Prequel to Athara's story, Lady Obscura: A Rogue One Story!
> 
> Happy Reading, and May the Force be with you!
> 
> DLA


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